Blood Of A Stranger
by AmethystB
Summary: How much can a near death experience change someone? What if it is someone you know, someone you are close to? What happens when the person you thought loved you wanted you dead? 'Continuation of the Jensen arc...' Eventual TruJack
1. Dissipate

**A/N: I have been trying out something different over the last couple of months and this is the result. I always knew I wanted to write the story of Jensen and how he "turns" after being saved by Tru in the episode, _Enough_. If you don't know the story and mythology behind this notion, I suggest you stop by Doris Egan's blog – you'll find it somewhere if you search for it. Doris Egan was one of the writers for Tru Calling and on her blog she has relayed the plans the powers that be had for Tru Calling in the future. These being story plots and such, and one of them happens to be the transformation of Jensen after being brought back to life (in a sense) by Tru. **

**I will not go into much depth about it here, but if you wish to read more into it, go check out Doris Egan's blog. **

**What I wanted to convey in this story was the whole idea that someone could be so affected by a near death experience as to be attracted to death in a disturbing way. This means that this person would be transformed in such a way that they kill, or fall into a downward spiral.**

**I know this author's note is long but I really needed to explain that first before the story begins. Anyway, story is rated for much violence and violent themes.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Tru Calling or any of its characters or story plots – they all belong to their respective owners. However, I am conveying in my own words what I think may have happened in future episodes.**

**With that said, let the games begin.**

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**Blood Of A Stranger  
****Chapter One: Dissipate**

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_His shadow was as graceful as the calm waves of the ocean under the grotesque quivering of the moon's glow. As he walked along the darken path he heard the eerie calling that dripped through his mind, and it all became clear to him what he had to do. He breathed easily with a fresh sense of clarity and all hesitations were drained from him after he expelled a dry gasp in the chilled night. He was guided from the sinister shadows and into the light of his first victim. _

_She was swaying gently with a brittle breeze that tangled her like a rough blanket. Her lengthy blonde curls bobbed as she leaned her frail frame against the rickety, broken fence. Her sky blue eyes were as distant as the heavy clouds above, an unspoken promise flickering with the passing moments between them. She hadn't noticed him yet; hidden within the reclining recesses that were the dark corners of the alleyway. He watched with hungry teal eyes, the anxiety crawling through his hands until they trembled with a nervous excitement. _

_He heard the whispered call yet again and this time he placed a foot into the moonlight, his sole crunching over a fallen, crisp leaf that had died not long ago. She looked up, startled, and pushed herself forward, her eyes darting frantically about her. He could hear her raspy breathing, heavy with a lain terror that pricked at her nerves curiously. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck and his arms pinched with a restless prickling. The voice called to him again and it echoed through his mind like a hollow whistle. He felt for the gun that forced itself against his stomach as it lay securely within his leather belt. Pulling it from its restraints carefully, he stepped wholly into the light of the moon, though he kept the metallic weapon hidden within the shadows. _

_He heard the gasp escape her lips and that was when he held it up to her, his hand shaking as he tightened the grip. He watched his knuckles whiten with a sickly drain of colour and he narrowed his eyes. The trigger was surprisingly easy to squeeze, not like he had thought it to be. _

_There was no scream, just the crumpling fall of her limp body. Her curls blanketed her pale face like a mask of pure gold, and with it hid the small hole that gaped in the middle of her forehead. Her deep blue eyes were the only things to pierce out from the tendrils of golden hair but they weren't blinking, not even moving with a flickering desperation. Rather, they were glazed over, washed with a crystalline liquid that resembled hot tears. But those tears, he knew, would remain forever. Even when she was laid to rest, her tears would never cease to flow, warm and wet like a hot rain in the evening of a balmy session of days. _

_He looked down on her mournfully, his own tears stinging his eyes from behind. He would not cry for her, this young woman with no name, because she was now in a better place. A place where he had been torn from selfishly after but a moment's peaceful sleep. It was like a soft dream of sweet release that he had violently woken up from. A disaster he felt ended a part of himself because he was drained of something, something vital. He had been ripped from a place he no longer held any memory of, but longed for with an intoxicating desire. In this place, he dwelt without having to haul the weight of his life around behind him like a dangerously heavy cloud, because this place was death. _

_And in death, there was no struggle to live. Just an ethereal silence that bordered on euphoria. That was what he longed for, and that was what he would have. One way or another. _

* * *

She noticed it immediately. The subtle way he would not look into her eyes, the short sharp words that grasped her, his involuntary twitching that would not cease…all of these things she noticed just by looking at him through the open frame of the door. Still, he smiled genuinely at her through those lashes that grazed the soft skin under his cerulean eyes.

She relaxed, leaning her arm against the door tiredly. "Do you know what time it is?"

His smile didn't falter as his eyes searched her face, still not meeting her own curious orbs of hazel. "Does it matter? I needed to see you, Tru."

She moved her arm from the door, creating a passage through which he sauntered with a sweeping step. "Jensen…"

His black coat dragged on the soft floor and he turned to face her, his eyes innocent. "Sorry. I just…I couldn't sleep. Not without you knowing."

She frowned at this, concern etching onto her features with precise grace. "Knowing what?"

He leapt forward with a single step, silencing her with a finger over her lips. His eyes finally met hers and they softened as he leaned down. "Don't say anything. I don't want you to. I just want you to know that…"

She ducked away from his stature over her and staggered back, confusion creeping into her. "Jensen, what is going on? What happened to you?"

"I'm falling in love with you, Tru."

It lingered in the still air of her confined apartment, coiling around stray photographs of friends and family, around paintings that hung steadily from the walls, and around her shocked form, seeping into her mouth and making her gasp.

She stared after him as he wandered back over to the door, smiling with a relieved satisfaction that strangely haunted her. She watched as his mattered blonde hair bobbed its soft curls when he swung the door closed. She blinked. Hard. Then harder the next time. Anything to make those words disappear into the night.

She didn't want to be loved. Not like that. Not ever again. Not after the disaster that had been Luc. Not now. Not when she couldn't love him. But what had she expected? She and Jensen had been walking down that path for quite a few months. Did she think it was just going to lead to a dead-end? Then what? There would be another to hold onto for the next couple of months? No, she didn't want that either. She wanted somewhere in between. Somewhere she didn't have to choose between love and loss. Somewhere she could just be happy simply being.

She knew she couldn't love him like she had Luc. He was not Luc. He was merely…another. Someone else. A replacement, maybe? Luc had truly been her first. She could only hold onto his memory now, though it hovered faintly over her and had begun to fade.

But Jensen. He had come to her in a time of need. She needed healing, and so did he. They both had been heartbroken one way or another. She from loss and he from betrayal. It seemed to fit, like the broken fragments of a puzzle. But she had never wanted him to fall in love with her. She wanted him there as someone she could fall back on and trust in. A friend. Not a lover. Certainly not a soul mate. Not someone to love.

How was it they had come together then? Not even she knew. It was like magnetic force. Strong, pulling. Impulsive. Her lips had suddenly found his in a passionate lock that brought them ever closer. She had questioned herself about moving on from Luc. Was it wrong? Could she ever love somebody else the way they had loved?

No, she didn't think so now. It didn't seem right. There was just something about his disturbed appearance before that unsettled her this night. The way his eyes never directly met hers. The curious twitching. His words that seemed to die before her when he spoke. All except for those words…

I'm falling in love with you… 

Anything but those words.

Those words hurt her, left her bleeding and screaming for an escape. She didn't want it. Not from him.

* * *

Jensen blew into his cupped hands, warming them as he walked briskly through the night. His long coat flailed behind him, flapping sharply in the cold wind. He had seen it in her face. She didn't feel the same way. She wasn't falling in love with him. She couldn't. Not after someone like Luc. He knew that. Still, it wouldn't stop him from trying.

After Lexi had betrayed him, Jensen felt vulnerable, like a part of him had been shamed. Tru made that all disappear simply with her words of strong comfort and support.

He didn't know when he had started to fall for her. It had just happened. He was relieved it was out now, out of his system and into the crisp air. Still, he couldn't make the image of Tru, shocked and completely unawares, dissipate from his mind. Her eyes had been wide with unexpected surprise, her mouth quivering with lost words. She hadn't said anything, just like he had wished, but now he felt he wanted her to. He wanted to know why it was she didn't love him like he did her. He wanted closure.

Shaking his head, Jensen cleared his thoughts and kept walking, lifting one foot up after the other monotonously like a motor. He just wanted to feel secure. He thought Tru could make him feel like that. Perhaps he was wrong.

* * *

He watched the receding figure fade into the darkness. His own blue eyes pierced through the shadows and trailed the damage left behind. He felt the sting at the back of his neck and pulled his brown leather jacket tighter around his body for warmth.

He wondered if it would snow soon. He liked to wake up after the snow had fallen, soft flakes lain on the stone as the sun pored down over it.

He looked towards the one room in the tall building looming above him that was lit by a pale wan glow. He saw the shadow of a figure walking across the window. She looked like a ghost in the icy night, hauntingly beautiful inside her secret abode.

Jack Harper knew she had not been alone that night. Someone had visited her in the early hours of morning, just when the frost was beginning to settle on the frozen buds of the crystal flowers.

He watched her on occasions, through her window at night when she least expected to be followed. His eyes traced her every movement, her perfect figure framed by her flowing dark curls. She haunted him, called him silently on the whispering winds so that she may not be alone at night. And he listened to her, coming obediently to her, though watching her from a distance. He didn't want to be too close. He knew he couldn't.

The moments wore on, thinning as the cold crept near and bit into his skin. He waited until the light of her room flickered and died before walking back home reluctantly. He didn't want to say goodbye, but he knew that soon she would be calling him again, and he would listen and come back to her.

* * *

**A/N: Forgot to mention above, though I really think it's a given, but this story will ultimately be Tru/Jack, even if Jensen did confess he loved Tru in this opening chapter...just a little foreshadowing you those tuning in...**


	2. Collide

**A/N: **Thanks to those who reviewed this; you're so kind (oh, and keep 'em coming!) Updates will be a lot more frequent now that I have actually written most of the story already, with the exception of the last two chapters. And I forgot to mention last time that this story will be part of a trilogy, so to speak. I'll keep you guys posted on that in the future, but now on with the present...

**Disclaimer: **Tru Calling is not mine. I own nothing but the computer I type with.

**Blood Of A Stranger  
****Chapter Two: Collide**

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The snow fell like dappled sands of the white wilderness during a storm and the pale flakes pattered softly against the foggy windows. The halls of the campus were alight with mindless chatter and forced laughter and as she picked her way through the crowds, Tru felt herself redden as she carelessly stumbled into someone. Apologising without looking up, she continued walking, not realising the person was someone she knew. 

"Tru?"

Tru stopped and whirled around, obscured by the bustle of students. "Avery. Hey sorry, didn't see you."

"Obviously not," Avery retorted as she tucked her blonde curls behind an ear and shuffled her books beneath her arms. "_You're_ in such a hurry to get to the lab; anything I missed?"

Tru rested a careless hand on the back pocket of her jeans and lifted her other hand to her forehead, breathing out heavily. "No, just…long night."

Avery sighed and cringed at Tru's nasal tone. "Yeah, and I'm guessing the weather doesn't agree with you."

Letting out a pathetic laugh, Tru turned and walked to the laboratory leisurely, Avery beside her. "You're not wrong there."

There was a cold breeze present when Tru stepped into the room, suddenly overwhelmed with the sterile stench of formaldehyde. She saw him standing near a body and her heart skipped a beat strangely, her pulse rate increasing almost dramatically. He was hovering over Tyler, laughing as the two held clipboards and studied the unfortunate cadaver laying still and ready before them. Jensen's messy blonde hair was casually tucked behind his ears, giving him an almost radiant look as the sun streamed through the blinds and beat down on his face. He turned to glance at someone behind his shoulder and gave another hearty laugh. He looked like a child, innocent and enjoying the moment as if it were his last.

A chill ran down Tru's back and caused her to shiver. He _had _died once. And he almost didn't come back. He owed it all to Tru's ability to relive the day to save the lives of those who asked her to. Though Jensen had not asked, had he? And yet Tru saved him just the same. A haunting voice taunted her from the back of her mind.

There are consequences, Tru… 

Consequences? If there were, Tru couldn't see them. She had saved a person she felt needed to be saved. And not just for his sake. For hers, as well. God forbid she thought herself selfish. She wasn't. She just needed a security blanket, and Jensen was just that. Well, he had been before the previous night at least. Now she wasn't so sure, after he had confessed his love to her. She wasn't ready for that, not yet. Not so soon after Luc.

He swept his gaze over to her, his eyes flickering with a doubtful sorrow before lighting up and igniting warmth. He waved her over to where he was stationed and Avery followed willingly, laughing as Tyler struggled with the incision into the cadaver. She quickly took charge of the scalpel and put on a slow voice, tauntingly instructing Tyler on how to cut properly.

Jensen looked to Tru with welcoming eyes and nodded, biting down on his lower lip almost reproachfully. Like he had done something wrong. Though it was only for a second then he laughed along with Avery.

"Taught by a girl," he quipped to Tyler, "that's something to put down in your memoirs."

Tyler looked up with curious eyes. "I'd like to see how well you cut into a body as cold as stone."

Jensen lifted his brows as he grinned mischievously. "I think I'd do quite well, don't you reckon, Tru?"

Tru was caught off guard by his sudden gleefulness. It was as if he hadn't been at her apartment last night at all. He was ignoring their current situation, pretending like nothing was wrong in their relationship. And that was fine with Tru.

She was quick to recover and replied almost flirtatiously, "Is there something the great Jensen Richie can't do?"

Jensen's smile grew, his lips stretching widely. "Not at all. I'm the man of steel. You heard it first here, folks."

* * *

Tru couldn't help but smile even as she picked her way cautiously through the thick snow. She could feel her feet becoming numb through her boots but she hardly gave it a caring thought. Everything seemed fine between her and Jensen, far from what she had expected from the day.

The diner seemed like a blazing haven compared to the chilling air of the cold outside world. The heaters burned above her on the walls, blaring the heat down on the few customers rubbing their hands together for warmth. She spotted her brother sitting amongst the crimson red booths, his eyes skimming over the newspaper carelessly.

"Ponies again?" Tru said quietly, guessing half-heartedly as she slid in opposite him.

Harrison looked up with tired eyes. "Economics, actually. I don't understand it but I thought I should take an interest in these things before I get the boot from the office."

Tru threw him a smile and shrugged off her coat. "Better than the ponies I guess. You ordered yet?"

"Yeah," Harrison replied eagerly, "and I got you a toasted salmon sandwich. They were out of tuna."

"Thoughtful," Tru mused, impressed at Harrison's sudden maturity. "So Dad let you take the afternoon off?"

Harrison blew into his hands, rubbing them, trying to warm them. "He practically handed it to me. I don't know what I've done but he seems to like it."

Harrison's phone began to ring in his pocket and he fumbled with it, his hands on their way to becoming numb with cold. He flipped it open and answered professionally, nodding and adding in a couple of 'yeses' and 'no problems'. He hung up, looking to Tru with apologetic eyes.

"That was the old man," he remarked sullenly. "He wants me to come in. Says he has a new assignment for me."

Blowing her brother a fleeting kiss, Tru leaned further into the cushioned booth and closed her eyes, washing her mind over the day. Jensen seemed fine. That was the main thing. As long as he was okay with being in a relationship limbo with her at the moment, she was fine with it as well. Maybe one day she would sit down and realise she did love him after all, that she could love him like she had Luc. Though however near that day may be, it seemed far away. A speck on the horizon, moving closer each day yet not advancing too fast.

She opened her eyes when she heard a rustle. Nearly jumping at the sight of a slightly bemused Jack Harper, Tru frowned angrily at him, watching his lips twitch into a cunning smile.

"What are you doing here?" Tru whispered loudly so as not to rouse attention. She looked away from Jack's piercing gaze, finding suddenly she was uncomfortable.

"Eating," Jack replied immediately, speaking as if she had asked him a ridiculous question. "Last time I checked, this was a public diner. Anyone can just wander in off the streets and get something to eat."

She had no need to speak; her look said it all. _Get out of here, Jack._

Jack shifted in his booth and pulled his jacket tighter over his cold body. "Although, on the other hand, I was hoping we could chat about the Jensen problem. I know you don't think it's an issue, but I beg to differ."

Tru was quick to respond, her mind set determinedly. "I don't see what possible consequences there could be, Jack, because I saved his life. There are no repercussions that I'm aware of to upset your _precious_ balance."

Jack lined his face into a frown, serious at last. He was frustrated that nothing he ever said reached her in the way he wanted. "There's where you're wrong, Tru. You feel it, don't you? It's like a tension that's straining your relationship. He's feeling invincible and you're feeling hesitant, doubtful even."

She looked at him dully and said flatly, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Even to a deaf person that wouldn't sound convincing," he spoke with a calmness that intrigued her. "I'd watch out if I were you, because he wants something you don't. He wants to take that risk, to commit, but you don't. You still love Luc."

Tru swallowed a lump in her throat at the sound of his name. And coming from Jack Harper made it sound like a sorrowful hymn sung in a tenor. "Don't say his name. Not after what you did."

He looked at her with almost sad eyes. He hated how she looked at him; pure hatred for what he had done almost a year ago now. He hated himself for doing it now. He regretted the decision to choose Luc. But he had done it for a reason; to teach her a lesson, to make her stop. It hadn't, though. It only made her more determined to save the lives of those that chose her. However, Jensen was not among those. Yet she had saved him anyway.

It made no sense to Jack. However reasonable it may sound to Tru, Jack didn't believe it. Tru didn't choose those she saved; _they_ chose _her_. And Jensen was affected. Tru couldn't see it yet but Jack knew it would be a matter of time before she became unsettled at the mere mention of his name.

* * *

_The night dawned in a blanket of darkness. The snow fell softly in a slow rhythm, pattering on the ground as it landed. He trudged through the icy substance, silently cursing the many layers that had fallen during the day. His hands were numb. His feet felt wet and soggy as his steps became heavy and burdened. The cold bit at his face and stung him but he could feel the slippery numbing wash over him and soon he couldn't feel anything. Still he persisted though, further down the quiet road that lay completely covered in a white sheet._

_He saw the young woman in front of him, walking slowly through the sinking snow. She had dark hair, black almost in the poor light of the street lamps. There was no moon. Not this night. The thick clouds shielded it from the harsh night, its beauty hidden behind shadows of darkness. _

_The woman felt his presence behind her and she turned over her shoulder, glancing about pathetically before picking up her pace. She walked almost deliriously through the cold, searching for her apartment building. He could tell she was new here, or she would not have been having such a hard time finding her building. _

_She was fresh, vulnerable. He liked that. He liked the ease of the kill and the thrill of the chase. And most of all, he liked that he was going to win. _

_The icy gun felt like paper in his hands, thin in between his fingers and so light he thought it would be blown away in the chilly wind. She turned back again and this time he saw she was holding a knife in her hand, ready to defend herself with. He almost laughed at her simplicity. Didn't she know she wasn't going to stop him? _

_The blast of the gunshot was muffled by the thick air around him and she fell to the ground without a sound, her body sinking slowly into the deep layers of snow. Her dark hair fell across her face, tangled with the snowflakes that lowered monotonously over her. _

_She was a lost soul now, scattered amongst the many other lost ones. He looked down on her, and smiled as the knife was still clutched close to her heart. Even in death she held it close to her, trying to desperately defend her life. But her life was gone, never to return._

_He watched, mesmerised, fascinated that he could do this and not feel guilt. It was powerful to believe you were doing the work of the universe, killing those who would be fated to die anyway. Still, he felt that same longing he had after the first one. He wanted to be there amongst those lost ones, his body laid to rest in the ground like hers was. And his soul free to return to death. _

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**A/N: **Ooh, what's gonna happen...? 

Peace


	3. Imprint

**A/N: Well here we are again. I thank those who reviewed my last chapter and I only hope that you will enjoy this chapter as well as you did the last. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Tru Calling or its characters. They belong to their respective creators. **

**No more waiting, here we go.**

**-**

**Blood of A Stranger  
****Chapter Three: Imprint**

**-**

The low humming of the television attracted Tru's attention and she was drawn into the small office she shared with the other morgue attendants. The morgue was quiet as expected. A deathly calm, Tru liked to think of it as. It was the calm of the ocean that hid a vicious rip underneath, ready and willing to pull any unwary victim down in a heartbeat. Any moment, that calm could change and become a flurry of movement as a body came wheeling in, ready to be examined.

This particular day was an exception. A cold Saturday morning. The leaves outside on the trees were frozen, their tips dripping with melting ice. The snow was thick this year, early and almost unbidden after the Christmas break.

Tru ignored the echoes in the hall where Davis paced, crouched over a book in typical fashion, engrossed completely with its content. Instead, Tru watched the small television screen, mesmerised to hear what was being said. There was a news report, live footage, of a crime scene. Yellow tape surrounded a series of trees and lampposts outside an apartment building not far from the morgue. The woman reporting looked cold, her lips blue from the bitter air. She spoke slowly, almost unable to form the words in her mouth. But what she said held Tru captive.

"…_and this wasn't the first killing. Two nights ago there was a shooting similar to this one which led to the death of a woman in her late twenties. Police have warned locals to beware of a possible serial killer, targeting young women so far."_

Davis walked into the room, his head down over the book he was still reading. He looked up expectantly when he noticed Tru standing below the television.

"Since it's quiet," he murmured softly, "why don't you go home and study for your exam tomorrow. I can handle everything here."

Tru stared at him incredulously. "Did you know about this?"

Davis blinked and glanced up, turning away immediately. He sighed and ran a quivering hand through his hair. "Tru…I didn't want to alarm you…"

"Have they been brought here?" Tru demanded, an anger slipping into her at Davis' omission.

Davis expelled a nervous breath. "Yeah, they're in the back. The second one was brought in here early this morning. You were still at home."

Pausing for a moment and gathering her thoughts, Tru composed herself calmly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," he replied evenly. "This guy seems to be targeting girls around your age and I thought it would be best if I dealt with the examinations without you knowing about them."

Tru frowned, her face lining with a look of disbelief. "You do know there might have been a possibility one of them asked me for help?"

Davis sighed again, a silent strain of his breath. "That was just a sacrifice I had to make. Serial killers are dangerous, Tru."

Tru was quick to retort. "I've come across one before."

"Not like this," Davis replied seriously, his face full of concern. "This is different. I have a really bad feeling about this, Tru. I didn't want you getting involved."

Tru wondered at his serious tone. Did he know something? No, he couldn't. Not Davis. But he said he had a feeling. What did that mean? Could this killer really be coming after her next? Tru shuddered at the prospect, her head pounding with the possibility. It made her feel uneasy that such a thing could happen, that such a person would do something like that. How could anyone be thrilled at the thought of killing someone? What made someone like that?

-

_He was in disarray, completely out of his comfort zone. It was broad daylight and he was strolling through the streets like he had the previous nights. He followed a tremendously thin girl, her arms folded as she walked briskly along in front of him. It was a busy street so he had to be careful. He needed to catch her at a corner, or deep in an alleyway. Not like this; walking down the street with people bumping into him without a worry. No, he didn't like this. It seemed out of place, challenging and almost impossible. _

_Still, he couldn't ignore the voice inside that called him forward, showed him his duty in his mind. He visualised the kill, fresh and satisfying in the glory of daylight. The light made him look innocent and sweet, casual during the day. Like he hadn't a care in the world. _

_The thin girl turned a corner and rounded into a smaller, narrower and much more intimate street. She turned back for a fleeting moment to make sure he was not there. She became agitated and fretful at the sight of him. He made no attempt to hide his following of her; he announced it with a gleeful pride. _

_He could tell he was worrying her. She wasn't older than he was; younger perhaps. She looked like a college student, though, with her stressed eyes and lean appearance. Probably studying something challenging, like law or medicine. Something he used to care about. But that was before. This was now. He no longer worried about those sorts of things. They were trivial, insignificant and uncontested with his new way of life. _

_She tripped over a mound of snow and stumbled into the ground, the cobblestone cold and wet beneath her from the snow that had been ploughed since its arrival. She grazed her palms when she slid over the ground, the sting affecting her immediately. _

_She looked up frantically, aware of the pounding footsteps advancing towards her. She tried in vain to pull herself up but she couldn't; her ankle was hurt, most likely sprained or rolled. She gave a small cry of desperation and began to plead with him._

_He wasn't listening. Why did she plead? It didn't make sense to him. Most people should be pleading for their lives to end, not for them to be spared. He knew he would be pleading for someone to take his life. But he had been devoured and spat out by the mouth of death, rejected and punished. He knew not why. _

_He had been denied the taste of death, but she wouldn't be. He held the gun to her head, pressing the tip gently to her skull. He could smell the tears she expelled, the small droplets sliding down her cheeks, teasing him. He couldn't cry anymore, not like that. It had been taken from him, the ability to express tears. _

_The gunshot was loud, however the street was abandoned. It would be a while until anyone found her lifeless body, cold and at peace with itself. She didn't have to worry anymore; no more troubles would bite at her. She was free._

_He wanted so much to be carried away to that place again, on giant white wings that rustled in the silence of eternity. He envied her now, gone to that place he was denied to stay. He smiled, though, a small twitch of the lips. He was happy for her, now that she had found true happiness and peace with herself. He longed for that. And soon it would be his._

-

Tru glanced haphazardly towards the clock that ticked monotonously above her, its hands almost overlapping. It was just after two in the afternoon. He was late. It wasn't like him. He usually kept to the time, especially when he was meeting with her, but he wasn't there like he should be. Tru began to worry. He was supposed to be there half an hour ago. He wouldn't just lose track of time like that; there had to be a reason, a real solid excuse. Like heavy traffic, or an accident. Or something of the like.

She looked down at her coffee, growing more anxious as each minute ticked slowly by. She could feel the heat seeping out of the small cup, the coffee losing its taste as the warmth disappeared. Still, she couldn't drink without him there. It wasn't right.

The door of the diner announced the arrival of another customer as it swung open with a small chime. Tru looked over and immediately sighed with relief. Jensen sauntered over to her booth, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry," he crooned as he slid in beside her, "traffic was murder. Couldn't catch a break."

She leaned over the table, catching his lips in hers for a fleeting moment. "Doesn't matter. As long as you're here now."

Jensen shrugged beneath his long, black coat, hoping to produce warmth from the movement. "Yeah, and I'm not going anywhere."

Tru felt something familiar tickling her leg and she cringed, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She quickly read the message and glanced up ruefully at Jensen. "Sorry, that was Davis. He needs me at the morgue; another body."

"And I guess you need to go," Jensen assumed with a quiet sigh.

Tru shrugged her way out of the booth, flashing Jensen another sorry look. A thought suddenly crossed her mind and she hurried into her jacket. "Hey, did you know there's a serial killer on the loose? Two bodies so far."

Three. 

Scratching his head casually, Jensen nodded slowly. "Yeah, I saw it on the news this morning. Pretty scary. You should be careful; he's targeting girls around your age."

"So I've heard," Tru whispered under her breath. She offered Jensen a small kiss before fading out of the diner.

A man sitting alone on a stool at the counter waited until he was sure Tru had gone before swirling around and striding over to Jensen purposefully.

Jensen glanced up on cue and rolled his eyes, clenching his jaw when he caught sight of Jack Harper strolling towards him. "What do you want?"

"To talk," Jack replied casually. "If I recall correctly, the last time we sat down to chat, you were almost flattened by a big car. _Almost_ being the operative word."

Jensen blinked, his mattered blonde hair falling across face, unbridled without the restraints of being behind his ears. "Yeah, all thanks to Tru."

Jack managed a small smile. "Don't you find her timing extremely impeccable?"

"I'm grateful for that," Jensen rorted calmly.

"Are you?"

The younger man was silenced by Jack's abrupt question. It sounded harsh as it echoed through his mind. He wasn't really. A part of him was, being saved from certain death. But there was that side of him that _resented_ Tru for her help. Since when had he asked her for it? He knew she was responsible for him being ripped away from death to suffer the endless torment of living. It was her fault.

Jack spoke again, this time softer as he slid into the booth, "She has a special gift that allows her to know these things. When people are going to die, how their lives will end. And she tries to prevent it all when she really shouldn't. Don't you agree? People should die how they're supposed to, and when they are called to. Not when she chooses them to."

Jensen blinked. Stared straight ahead. It was like his spine had been struck by Jack's words. He couldn't move; he just stared. It was how he knew he felt. Something inside of him swelled with an overwhelming sorrow and grief. He had been ripped away from that place that seemed so enticing to him. It haunted him, relentlessly, aware that he couldn't go back. Not yet. Because she had _chosen_ it to be so.

-

**A/N: Done. Reviews are much appreciated :)**

**Peace**


	4. Lapse

**A/N: Another chapter coming up. This time around it has a little more of a Tru/Jack theme, as the story has been lacking that so far.**

**Disclaimer: I try not to own things. **

**A big thanks to Habita for reviewing again and again. Your comments are sweet, kind and thoughtful and you never have a bad word to say. And remember, no English is too terrible for me to appreciate :) **

**Blood of a Stranger  
****Chapter Four: Lapse**

* * *

Hope was a precious thing. It tended to hoard itself deep within people until it needed to rise to the surface, bubble at the top while gasping for air, then when there was no immediate need for it, sink back down into the depths of the human soul. In a minor, though, sometimes that hope was lost for all eternity. Never was a soul born without hope; it merely faded into the darkness of despair when the soul rejected it, spat it out and abandoned it. When hope was lost within a soul, that soul would darken, swell and become impure. Lost. Almost as it if were dead.

There was no pulse as Tru moved her warm fingers around the neck. No beating heart, no blood pumping through the veins. Dead. Of course that was to be expected of a body brought to a morgue.

Tru looked down at the body, the light brown hair mattered and wet from the falling snow. It was brushed back over the face, revealing the sunken cheekbones and thin lips, a deep blue in the dense light of the room.

Hope had been lost.

The body had given up, though only in that last second of life.

Tru started when a voice rose from the darkness of the room.

"Third body," Davis spoke as he walked briskly towards the table where the body lay, and Tru stood looking down at it. "Our serial killer strikes again."

Swallowing a rising lump, Tru glanced at Davis with a fleeting hesitation, confused and evoked by a sudden, choking emotion. "I thought you said you didn't want me on this…"

Davis looked at her pointedly, a comforting knowledge flashing in his eyes. "I don't. But you do."

Tru gave a small nod and tired to hold Davis' gaze but found herself looking away. The mere thought of someone being so cruel as to take the lives of those he sees around him every day chilled her. She couldn't imagine the mind of someone so…evil. Harsh word, brittle and cold, but it seemed right to describe a serial killer as evil. No matter the pain that would flow each waking day in a killer, it did not give them the right to take someone's life. Their force. Their very _existence_. No right.

Davis hesitated, glancing at Tru. He didn't want to disturb her thoughts, didn't want to ruin the sacred gaze she geld with the dead. "Do…do you think she'll…ask?"

Tru blinked clear her mind and looked to Davis with an unsure gaze. "I don't know."

The silence grasped them again, clasping tightly and sucking the life out of the room. There were hollow echoes that resonated from the halls of the morgue. Tru didn't hear them. All she listened for were those words that changed the coarse of destiny, that sent her back into the day so she could make a difference to someone's life, and hopefully prevent their death.

Tru traced her eyes over the lines of pain and unease that coursed through the young woman's face. She had been upset, stressed about something. There were slight wrinkles in the ridges of her features. Her killer had seen only her in a crowd of people, targeted her and followed her. _Through broad daylight. _He had been pushing the boundaries, edging closer and closer to that line so often not crossed. He had flirted with the idea all day, a killing in daylight, with people around. It seemed exciting to him, captivating and thrilling.

It sickened Tru to the pit of her stomach.

The killer had trapped her in an abandoned street, lured her into the corner. She couldn't run anymore; she had tripped on the cold stone. Fallen, grazed her palms. Panicked. Pleaded for her life, knowing death would befall her in a matter of malicious seconds. He had shown no signs of remorse when he pulled the trigger, the gun pressed against her head. Blood had spilled, splattering across his clothes, staining him.

Tru wiped away a stray tear with a ginger finger.

A figure slid into the room, black coat flailing out behind him. Tru looked up, stunned to see who it was.

"Jensen?" She spoke with a brave voice, knowing she was on the verge of tears. "What are you doing in here?"

Unfolding his arms carefully, Jensen reached into his coat and pulled out a small black wallet, waving it at Tru. "You left this at the diner. Thought I could reach you if I walked quickly."

Smiling, Tru moved away from the table and walked quietly over to Jensen, who stood in the doorway, hesitant to step into the room completely, afraid of what he might see. She took the wallet from him appreciatively, then glanced over her shoulder at Davis, who inclined his head towards the small office adjoining the standards room. She nodded, turning to Jensen.

Before she could say a word, he silenced her with his own. "I know, I shouldn't be in here. I'll get out of your way…"

"No," Tru spoke with a slight desperation, cutting him off with almost wide eyes. "I just have to talk to Davis for a minute and then after that we can go back to the diner. Just give me a second."

Jensen was left to shrug complacently as Tru slipped into the small office, Davis waiting. He glanced his eyes over the room, trying not to turn to the body in front of him. He thought it wrong that he should look at her. She was dead. Peaceful, undisturbed. Effortless in the wake of the cold afternoon.

Still, he found himself pulled to her lifeless form. Stepping, one foot in front of the other, he eventually reached the cold, metallic table. Her body, he could see, was finally at ease, her mind drifting somewhere between worlds. Her lips smiled at him, a deep blue they seemed to be as he peered down on her. She was peaceful as she slept in the eternal darkness.

A voice in the darkness soothed him with its sudden echoing. "Tragic, isn't it?"

Jensen looked over his shoulder at the owner of the voice, a formally dressed Carrie Allen, her dark hair framing her face as she sauntered over to him. Her eyes glanced upon his with a clear expectancy, promising something beneath the surface layer. A fleeting look of curiosity flitted through her eyes before vanishing altogether in the poor light of the room.

Jensen turned back to the nameless body, a face he would not forget from this day forth. "Yeah, sad for her family."

Carrie tilted her head, strands of dark hair following her face. "And for her. She had her whole life in front of her."

Knowing what was coming, Jensen decided to finish her sentence. "And it was just snatched from her. Unfair, I guess."

"_God_," Carrie whispered under her breath, emotion striking her suddenly as she looked down at the body. "Can you imagine someone taking your life like that? Tragic."

The room was once again overcome with a stiff silence. The last word spoken resounded and echoed against the walls. _Tragic_. Some people thought so, others didn't. The pendulum swung both ways. There were those who thought of death as a burden, a _tragedy _amongst the pleasures of life. And there were the others, who thought of death as a part of life, a blessing rather than a curse, ecstasy beside the pain of life.

Carrie tore her eyes away from the corpse to instead study Jensen, his young features, almost youthful in the smouldering light. Full of life. Dying to find more of it. His blue eyes were quietly remorseful; she could tell from the heavy eyelids. His blonde hair speckled his forehead, drooping slightly to one side. It rested in soft curls on his shoulders, which were broad and covered by the black coat that fell behind him almost to the floor. The collar was upturned, hiding the side of his neck. His shirt beneath the coat was open, baring the perfect flesh underneath. Strong, wilful. Alive.

Far from what his soul seemed to be.

His soul had been stolen from him when he died. It hadn't been brought back with him. Pieces of his personality, his life before, were slowly been etched away, erased from the person he was to become.

It saddened Carrie to know that Jensen would become a monster. He would be eaten away at by the hungry jaws of death until all that would be left were bones, hollow and devoid. Empty.

Casting her eyes away from Jensen, Carrie glanced towards the window that held a barrier between two separate rooms. She could see Davis, leaning against a table with his hand to his chin in thought, and Tru, towering above him and talking in a subdued manor.

She could barely hear what they were talking about. Remembering it was her job to pry, Carrie took a few steps towards the window, hiding in the primitive shadows of the dark room. Tru's voice was suddenly clearer, louder though muffled by the restraints of the window.

"…_don't think she'll ask. Not now. I think we should just wait until the next one. I know how that sounds, but…"_

Carrie knew why the body hadn't asked for help; it didn't _want_ to. Just like Jensen hadn't wanted to. And yet, Tru brought him back anyway. She just couldn't let him die, like he wanted.

_Davis spoke with a quiet voice, distracted and somewhat hesitant. "Okay, whatever you think. But don't leave it too late, because, well, you know. We don't want more bodies than necessary. If there's an opportunity to change fate, then you have to take it."_

A small smile tugged at the corners of Carrie's lips. Davis, always knowing more than he's saying. He was always loyal to Tru, even when they disagreed on things. If he hadn't been that loyal, Jensen would be long dead, just a fading memory in the minds of those he left behind. And he wouldn't have this obsession with death, this unnerving reaction to being pulled from the other side.

Carrie turned back to Jensen, suddenly curious as to how he was affected. A realisation flooded her mind like a giant wave collecting a mass of bodies. _He was the killer! _In that moment it took for Carrie to understand what that meant, Jensen had moved, turned his body around to face her. There was a distance between them but Carrie could see it, clear and bright as day. Jensen smiled at her from across the room, an innocent smile that lit up his face in the darkness. But one thing was missing from the perfect picture; his eyes were round and hollow, dark. Barely there. There was no warmth in them, no colour or depth. Just pure darkness.

* * *

The smooth, pulsating music seeped out of the speakers above, filling the room with a liquid sensation of being fluid, soft like velvet. It was almost seductive, despite itself. For what it was, nobody really cared about it. It just set an atmosphere, an _air _that accompanied the acquired taste of alcohol and the drowning intoxication of cigarette smoke.

It relaxed an edgy Jack Harper, who sat alone at the bar on a glossy wooden stool, glass in his hand, scotch swirling as he stared forward absently. Not good. The situation had escaped his grasp and was flourishing. Not in a good way, if he believed Carrie's theory any. Why hadn't he tried harder to put an end to Jensen when he had the chance? It was perfect, what he had set up. Nobody could have known the outcome that would have been. None, all except for Tru Davies, a master at what she did, yet she had no idea why she did it. Why she persisted, when all that was going to visit her was heartache.

If she hadn't figured out his plan, his way of ensuring the cycle of fate - well, who was he kidding – his way of disposing of Jensen, none of this would have happened. Innocent people would not have been killed in such a murderous way.

This monster would not have been created.

Still, he couldn't say that he was surprised. After all, he _knew _what could happen if a soul had been lost forever. No, lost wasn't the word. _Gone_. Jensen's soul had simply gone.

Someone sidled in beside and him and Jack had no need to turn around to know who it was. "Scotch, on me."

"Kind of you, Jack," the man's voice spoke smoothly as he rested his cupped hands on the counter before him, "but I don't need it."

Jack gave a small smile and tilted his head. "Didn't say you did, Richard."

Richard Davies shifted beneath his long, heavy coat and blinked a few times rapidly, a habit he had acquired long ago. "How's our little problem going?"

Jack moved two slender fingers and motioned for the man behind the bar to refill his glass. He watched as the liquid sprinkled onto the rim and sides, before pooling in the center and filling to the top. Fluid, like the music, the night. He breathed in deeply through his nose, as if seeming refreshed. He hated the choking smell of cigarettes.

Coughing quietly, Jack surrounded the rim of the glass with his lips, capturing the alcohol that slid gently down his throat. It didn't burn anymore. "He's the killer." He shifted away from the barman. "He's killing girls just because he wants to. He wants to know how it feels."

Richard bit down on his lower lip, resolving to draw blood. "It is not your decision to end it. Tru has to make that call."

Jack's throat felt dry. He felt the familiar prickling start to crawl up his fingers, and his head began to spin slowly. "And when she does, I'll be waiting."

Richard was silent, only as a courtesy to Jack's inner thoughts. He was well aware of the affection his young intern held for his daughter. Affection probably wasn't the right word for it. It was more like admiration. He noticed how Jack's voice differed from normal when he spoke of Tru. There were varying degrees of it, as well. Tonight Jack spoke with a solemn nature, saddened by the fact that Tru had to be caught up in all of this.

It was odd that Richard should be so fatherly protective of his daughter. He felt a venom pulse through his veins at the mere thought of Jack having such thoughts about Tru. Strange, since he had never really been a father to her.

He stood from the stool, gave Jack a final menacing look before vanishing in a blanket of black trench coat. Jack didn't even bother to watch him leave, just as he hadn't when Richard arrived. He could see in Richard's glancing looks the protectiveness, the awareness, and the challenging. He was _daring _Jack to move in on his daughter, just so he could catch him out.

Jack smirked as he let the rest of the dull scotch glide down his throat. It tasted almost moldy, not rich and potent like it should. It was strange how the taste of such a thing could die; wilt away to near nothingness in the short moments it took for intoxication to overwhelm. It was nothing to him anymore, the burning of being drunk, the blurred vision, the dizziness. Nothing. Just…life.

* * *

_He hated to admit he was lonely. It made him feel uncomfortable. Degraded, almost. Like he was lesser than others because of his condition. He knew there was no one out there who could feel the same. Loneliness was common among perfect strangers, every day when somebody would revel in the company of only themselves. They would tell themselves they were happy, content to be alone. Deep down, though, they yearned the company, the warmth of another. The comfort of their pain being shared._

_No, his loneliness was different._

_His was a pain no one could share with him. Because nobody had been _saved_ like he had. Nobody had died before, then come back without any recollection or knowledge of the other side. Nobody but him. _

_It frustrated him to no end how deftly that other side kept him away. It only came sometimes but if he was lucky, mostly at night, something from the other side would come down and touch him, remind him of what he had been taken out of. It was like a force that drove down into him and possessed him. It was during that brief moment of time that he would remember things, fragments of his death. Images that flashed rapidly through his mind and reminded him of what it was he was destined to do. What fate wanted of him. _

_Tonight was one of those nights._

_It was cold but not bitter as he wandered through the winding streets of the city. He was searching for fate's new sacrifice. A woman in her early to late twenties, attractive but fazed by the calling of her busy life. Stressed, in a hurry. In trouble or desperate for something. That was what he looked for when he searched… _

…_something to remind him of Tru._

_She had been the one to pull him back, prevent him from stepping through to the other side. She was fazed by her calling. She was often stressed with the workload of her job, medical school and the meticulous demands of fate. As of late she seemed to be troubled, desperate for something she may or may not have been aware of hunting. _

_He resented her for saving him, a sharp sting in the middle of his chest where he _knew _he had been shot before. He remembered seeing the man come into the store and demand the owner for money. He remembered the gun the same man had flashed around as he shouted for everyone to remain calm and quiet. _

_And he remembered trying to be a hero, trying to disarm the man. Then the shot went off, loud and hollow. Then…darkness. Nothing. Until he felt a tug, a strange pull that sucked him backwards into the previous day. But Jensen would not remember this. Jensen could not. No. Because he wasn't the one that was called by fate to go back and save lives. Jensen did not remember. But this force from the other side did, and it was reaching out to Jensen, flowing memories into his mind, a mind that would not remember a thing come dawn. _

_Still, dawn was long into the next morning. Hours. He had time to take another life. _

_This one was young, naïve. He could see it in the way she walked. Steady, almost hesitant but not too anxious. She didn't seem to be in any hurry; there was no brisk step in her walk. She had short, blonde curls that bounced above her shoulders as she took another corner. _

_In the poor light of the moonless night he had to squint into the darkness to see her. He was thankful for the occasional streetlight or passing car. It gave him a fleeting glimpse of her. She was wearing a jacket, most likely mohair. He couldn't be sure. Brown with a fluffy white lining. She wore black jeans that cut off just above her ankles. Heavy boots covered her feet and her legs up to her shins. _

_Her arms were folded over her chest, hands moving to produce heat. She blew cold puffs of smoke into the night as she walked. They were fast, erratic. She was growing tired. _

_The gun grated along his skin with each step. It was tucked neatly into his belt and he began to regret not wearing anything beneath his shirt to reduce the annoyance the gun created. He reasoned that it would not persist for much longer. _

_There was a heavy step behind him that interrupted his thoughts. A foot in thick fallen snow. Slow, methodical. Someone was following him. _

_He glanced to the young woman he himself had been following and felt her slipping further and further from his grasp. He would have to let her go. He couldn't risk someone seeing him, being witness to his sacrificial killing. It would not be right. _

_He watched as the girl grew fainter in the darkness, her figure becoming a slender slither of shadow. He stood to one side, shifting to step in front of a plump tree. There he slipped his gloved hands into his pockets, lifting a leg to place his foot on the stump of the tree. _

_He couldn't see anything but he heard no footsteps after that. _

_The person following him had stopped, given up. He looked forward, searching fruitlessly for the girl he had been watching. Not a thing. _

* * *

The hardened eyes of Richard Davies stared into the darkness. However implausible, he remained to see clearly through the night. He felt the cold bite into him and he let out a slow, careful breath, watching the white steam flow out in a long strip. He watched as Jensen receded into the night.

* * *

**A/N: Finished. Next chapter on its way. Reviews are appreciated as always.**

**Peace.**


	5. Ashes

**A/N: I'm trying to update more frequently now, because I have a lot more to offer, so expect shorter gaps between chapters as of now. **

**Thanks to those who reviewed the past chapter; stick with me :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Tru Calling.**

**Let the games begin.**

**Blood of a Stranger  
****Chapter 5: Ashes**

* * *

The phoenix rises from the ashes to be born anew. The flame of life is born from the smouldering of death. Life, renewed, spreads its wings and rules the skies, waiting for the day when it too must burn to ashes. Then new life in turn will be awakened.

And so the cycle continues. Life after death after life after death.

Richard Davies mulled over this. It was a perpetual cycle, the cycle of life and death. The two separate forces respectively danced circles around one another, flirting with the notion of joining to become one. It was always there, that temptation to be rid of life and death alike, to live in a utopia where pain did not exist.

Still, if there were no distinction between the two, there would be nothing left of the world. No driving force behind fate's calling. No struggle to pertain to perfection, no thrill of the game of life. No hunt. No thirst for zest and for control. Nothing.

Just a vast emptiness.

Much like the life of Jensen Richie. By now Richard was completely aware of Jensen and his soul, or lack thereof. Jensen was just a hollow body that made its way through everyday life, not really understanding its purpose. Just a host body for a greater entity, a greater force. A play thing for fate to toy with.

Now, Richard knew this was no game. This certainly was a matter of life or death, whether he wanted to admit that or not. Jack had not done his job; he had been sloppy and left himself open for Tru to grasp a fleeting opportunity. And Richard held him responsible for this mess.

A pang of jealousy and resentment coursed through him suddenly, overwhelming him for a moment, for he had not anticipated the painful rush of emotion. If Richard still held the power to go back and relive the day to feed fate what it wanted, none of this would have happened. He could easily admit that when he heard the calling all those years ago, he was a tactic player; he had effortlessly thwarted his wife's ambitions when they were pitted against one another. It was almost laughable now how easily he used to win. And Elise had been oblivious all of that time who death really was.

There were times be had been tired, exhausted from the lies he told his family, and he would just let her win without planting any obstacles in her way. Fate had been cruel, unfair and cold to him; making him the enemy of the woman he had fallen in love with. Still, he had been chosen for something no one else could accomplish. He had his job to do. And she had hers. Respectively.

Jack was more laid back, teasing rather than a ruthless player. He liked to have fun on his rewinds. Play the ponies, bet on the underdog, and win money. He also liked to patronise his enemy. Teased her methodically and mercilessly. Pushed her buttons, see what she liked and didn't like. Hunted down her friends and family, pushed a wedge in between them and her. He invited himself in to her life without any regard to her protests.

Richard wasn't so sure he liked this. Jack was so intrusive and so completely unfocused sometimes. It was a risky way of working. And that was how this current predicament occurred. Jack hadn't been precise enough, not ruthless enough to follow through with Jensen's death when he had the chance. And now he had to wait for Tru to pull the plug for it to work. That could take a while, considering how she felt about Jensen.

In the end it had been Richard's decision to dispose of his wife. Cruel, calculated and precise. The only way to deal with the enemy. Richard hadn't wanted for her to die, not in the least. But if it meant passing on his gift, his _curse_, then he would at all costs. He had just wanted it all to _end_. The lies, the deceit. Everything.

And it had…only to be passed on to his daughter. Although, she, unwittingly, was working against him. Tru was working against fate; helping those who wanted to come back, do so. Jack Harper worked _for_ fate, ensuring that those who defied the laws of fate were handed back to it, dead.

Yes, the phoenix did rise from the ashes. It rose when its predecessor no longer had the will to please life; when the pain of living ate away at it, exhausted it to mere bones. And the ecstasy of death become too much for it that it burned it to a crisp, reducing it to smouldering ashes left to birth new life.

* * *

Tru let the pen slip from her fingers as she sighed with a content satisfaction. Another exam was completed and she had a good feeling that she had passed with flying colours, or so the saying went. They had all been relatively easy questions, mostly pertaining to the human anatomy. All things she was well accustomed to.

An uneasy feeling crept into the pit of her stomach and her heart fluttered with a surprising pain, one she could so easily place. Jensen had not shown up for the exam. It was already late morning, the afternoon creeping up quickly, and he had not arrived. She had called him just before the exam, wondering , along with Avery and Tyler, why he hadn't turned up early like they had all planned. They were supposed to have been cramming a study session into the early morning, if it had not been for Jensen.

He had not answered his phone when she called, nor his home phone either. Since then Tru had been feeling queasy, not sure what she should do about it. There could have been a million reasons why Jensen had not answered her calls. Though, Tru knew in the back of her mind, where the reasoning took place, that there was only one answer. One that she didn't want to be aware of.

She felt a jab in her arm and turned around in her chair, facing Avery who held a pen tentatively.

"Hey," Tru spoke quietly, "you finished?"

Avery raised a surprised eyebrow and glanced a look down to the professor, who returned her look with stern eyes. "Yeah, only like, half an hour ago. Have you tried calling Jensen again?"

Tru shook her head with a sombre expression. "No, I was hoping he'd turn up before the lesson was over. Guess I'd be holding my breath now, huh?"

Shrugging, Avery opened her mouth to speak but a sharp voice stopped her short of beginning.

"No, speaking, please," the professor stood with his glasses halfway down his nose, his eyes frustrated. "Students are still completing their exams. Miss Davies, if you so wish, you can spend the rest of the twenty minutes outside counting the seconds…?"

Tru ran her tongue over her cheek and felt an almost irrepressible urge to hurl her pen down the lecture hall at the stocky man. Instead, she smiled sweetly and blinked, clearing her mind of any violent thoughts. She gave Avery a final look and raised her brows quickly before turning around to face the front of the hall. The clocked ticked meticulously on the wall before her. She was soon lost in its rhythm, her mind anticipating the jerking movements of the hands.

"_Sorry. I just…I couldn't sleep. Not without you knowing."_

Jensen's silky voice echoed through her mind. Memories of nights passed haunted her, made her uneasy.

"_I'm falling in love with you, Tru."_

That had been the night to begin it all. Something new had been born that night, something inhibited, unwanted. She hadn't wanted his love. She still didn't want it. In spite of this, however, she clung to him, held on to his life. She had brought him back selfishly and she had to live with that. They both did, he indebted to her and she unsure if she made the right decision.

Tru knew that she couldn't have it both ways. She couldn't save him and then expect him not to be grateful, expressing his care for her more openly than before. And she could not have let him die because she would be losing Luc all over again. She would be giving into Jack and what he believed, after all this time of her opposing him. She couldn't let him see that, in more than one way, he was right.

She was feeling uneasy about Jensen, unsure about his less than settling behaviour as of late. He had been showing up uncharacteristically late to places, and sometimes he would not even show up at all. Just like the exam. His manor had been increasingly distant and wistful. His mind was not all there sometimes.

But what haunted Tru the most were his eyes. Sometimes, when she stole a glance his way, he would not even be there at all, his eyes dark and hollow. Scary. Devoid of any emotion. Then she would blink and that darkness would have vanished. No trace of it. He would be Jensen again. Sweet, generous Jensen.

The bell rang hollowly through the hall, distracting the large number of students who rose from their desks and began to line up in front of the professor. Tru sat, perplexed, not there. She was far away.

* * *

_He sniffed the air. Clear, crisp. Just on dusk. The smouldering heat of the sun faded in the peach sky, the snow underfoot becoming soft. His feet sunk into it as he lifted each leg up methodically. Up. Down. Up. Down. A cycle of unconscious movement. His legs were dancing with one another, brushing against the other as they lifted and fell. _

_He felt a shrill breeze sting his face. He felt numb from the cold. His hands were covered by soft black gloves and as he slid them out of his coat pockets, he felt them trembling. They were shaking, quite violently, and he did not know why. He placed it on nerves, a physical reaction to his mental state of mind. Since his mind was numb to the reality of what he was doing, his body was the only thing that could act out against it. Still, mind over matter always seemed to win in the end. _

_And his soul played no part in this little game, seeing as he didn't actually have one. _

_His belt was free of the small metallic gun that was usually holstered there. He wasn't looking for an easy kill this time. He wanted to actually feel as though he was sacrificing a life. It had to be a massacre; otherwise there was no substance to it. No real meaning. _

_She was tall, yet still shorter than him. They all had been. Her darks curls were strewn about her head and delicately laced around her shoulders. As she was, her back to him, she looked exactly like he wanted her to. She looked an exact replica of the one who had barred him from that place he longed for; death. _

_She was confident in her manor, striding onwards towards a car park just up ahead. He could define every muscle working in her arms as she walked with only a black top on that cut off just below her shoulders. He knew she must have been freezing, but obviously didn't feel it. It wasn't a common thing during a winter as cold as this; that somebody could walk through snow-laden paths and not worry about how cold they were, how frozen their limbs seemed to be. _

_But this woman seemed not to notice what time of the year it was, or that there were fresh clouds above, ready to release more snow onto the earth. She seemed oblivious, yet aware at the same time. Yes, this would be a sacrifice after all. _

* * *

The sky was darkening quickly, the light of the day fading into the black of night. Tru walked briskly through the heavy snow, picking her way to her apartment. The dark corners and alleyways cast dancing shadows upon the path she walked. It was eerie. She had ignored Avery's offers about a lift in her car; she had protested that she didn't want to put anyone out. And besides, it wasn't all that dark.

The three of them, Avery, Tyler and a disorientated Tru, had been celebrating how easy their exam had been with drinks. Avery hadn't been drinking and it made Tru uncomfortable, almost guilty. Guilty about celebrating something cruel.

After Jensen had ceased to show for the exam, Tru began to worry about his abnormal behaviour. She had been feeling a drowning kind of sorrow, born of the sentiment that something wasn't right with Jensen. She had been craving a drink. She waned to be drunk. Intoxicated. Numb.

She didn't want to feel the guilt that was creeping over her. Jack's haunting words lingered in her mind, his warnings that something was happening to Jensen drowning out all other reasoning. She didn't want it to be true. But, she knew, it was.

She had seen a disturbing change in him, despite it being subtle and almost ominous. His moods were different, his patterns had been altered. He would sometimes stare into thin air, his eyes shrinking into black holes. In those times, there was nothing that proved his identity, nothing to say he was Jensen at all. In those times, he was a dark abyss, hollow and void. Gone.

Tru shivered. It was growing colder with the chilling darkness of the night. She was only wearing a light coat over her jeans and tank top. She cursed herself mentally for not wearing something warmer, something that she wouldn't freeze to death in.

She stopped dead in her tracks, her breath forming a long string of white cloud as she blew lightly with her lips parted. Jensen was leaning against a railing that hung over a creek, his long coat flowing out behind him. There was a strong breeze and it dug up underneath his blonde, mattered hair, rustling it.

She couldn't call out to him, she was too cold. Her blood had frozen over, it seemed. She didn't know why. She reached him and gingerly held out a hand, touching his shoulder gently. He didn't move. He was just leaning against the railing, almost in a trance. His whole body was still against the wind. She couldn't see his eyes, couldn't see if they were there.

She shook his shoulder harder, this time whispering his name hoarsely, the cold biting into her voice. She yelled his name once, worried, and he snapped violently around, raising his hand. Then he realised who it was.

"Tru," he whispered, relieved. "Sorry, I zoned out there for a bit. Hope I didn't scare you."

She stared, almost in a state of shock. Her heart pounded hard against her chest and her breath was erratic. She looked into his eyes, their blue irises crystalline and brilliant in the darkness. He smiled down on her sheepishly, embarrassment reddening his cheeks. Or maybe it was the cold that did that. She wasn't sure.

Tru finally found her voice. "Jensen, you _did_ scare me. What_ was_ that?"

Jensen lined his face into a frown, before he shrugged and smiled again. "Nothing. I was just thinking about my dad."

Concerned, Tru leaned in. "Is everything okay? He's okay, right?"

Jensen laughed. It sounded harsh in the bitter cold. "Of course. Everything is better than okay. Tru, I just figured out something."

Tru rubbed her arms, breathing calmly. It was freezing. "What?"

"I don't care anymore," Jensen replied with an unfazed clearness. His voice was pure silk as it spun around Tru, pulling her in.

She frowned, unsure. "What do you mean?"

Jensen took a deep breath, engulfing the cold air. His lips seemed to be growing blue. Or maybe it was the dim light of the moon. He leaned forward, his lips almost touching Tru's. She felt their coldness. It was like feeling death. She wanted to draw back, but remained oddly entranced.

He breathed lightly on her lips, whispering, "I don't feel like I live because of him. I don't have to prove anything to him anymore."

He kissed her, hard and deep. He captured her lips with a force that scared her. His lips were cold and rough against hers. They felt dead.

She pulled back and expelled a long, dry breath. She was shivering from the inside. It was so cold. "Jensen, you missed the exam today."

He watched the way she struggled with the words, the cold slurring her speech. "My dad pushed me into med school," he spoke fluently, his voice unaffected by the bitterness of the cold. "I never really wanted it. It was just something he used to make me his puppet."

Tru stood still, stunned to the core. Was this really happening? "Jensen, you don't know what you're saying…you don't really mean it…"

"No," Jensen said firmly, though he showed no anger, "for once, I do know what I'm talking about. I can see it all clearly now. I don't need him anymore."

Tru reached out her hand and latched on to Jensen's shoulder, turning him around gently. "No, Jensen, you're confused…you don't know…"

He ripped his arm away violently, his face pulsing with a distorted anger. "_You _don't know anything! Who are you to judge me when all you've done is take me away from the one thing that I wanted?"

The colour drained from Tru's face. She couldn't feel anymore. Everything went numb. She blinked, twice. Three times. It didn't stop the tears that welled up and spilled out. They froze as they slid down her cheeks. Her head was spinning with a sick feeling of dizziness.

Jensen immediately realised he had lashed out and his face was a mask of concern and remorse. He held out a hand and stoked the tears away from Tru's face, frozen still they were. He gathered her into a tight embrace and she let him. She couldn't do anything else. She was numb. Still from the cold. Choked from the barking words that echoed in her mind.

She couldn't do anything else but let him hold her until the pain leaked away.

* * *

There was an atmospheric sigh as Tru turned the key in the door. It was habit, forced, and completely fitting considering the day she had experienced. A key in the door. Turning. Ending the day; the _nightmare_. She resigned herself to her apartment, the clean surroundings enveloping her and drowning her just as she walked through into the kitchen, lifting two careless fingers to feel for the light switch.

The room illuminated and cast a glare over the places she walked. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally alike. What was going on with Jensen? She knew Jack had spoken of consequences, ripples in fate…but this? Not this. Not _evil_.

Soulless.

A chill crept up her spine with incredible speed. It was as if Jensen wasn't there; like somebody else harboured his body. Like he was _possessed_.

She wandered aimlessly into her living room, flicking the switch imperviously. Her eyes down, she started with a surprised shock when she focused them. She froze, unaware as to what she should do. Should she scream? No, that would cause attention. And, she knew, that was exactly what Jack Harper wanted.

He stood slowly off the couch, cautious, like she was a ticking bomb. He held up his hands defensively. "Didn't mean to scare you."

She scoffed at his hoarse whisper. "You never do."

Jack gave a half smile, lighting up the very edges of his lips. "Now who would have thought the spare key was kept under the welcome mat?"

She levelled his state, serious and glowering. "I should call the police, then you won't think this is so funny."

She turned to find her phone, but he stepped around her before she could move, blocking her way, capturing her arm with his. "Tru, please understand, I don't find any of this funny. As I said, there are _consequences_. Very serious consequences."

She noticed oddly the way he articulated each separate word carefully, bracing them each as their own personal sentence. "Get out," she said icily, her tone deadly calm.

He still held her close, arm clasping heavily over hers. "I'm only warning you," he matched her venom perfectly, "if you don't be careful, people are going to get hurt."

She tightened her mouth, glaring at his solid blue eyes, glowing wildly in the piercing light. "Is that a threat?"

"More like a guarantee," he promised with a steel malice, one that, he knew, was just pretence. A strong, tough pretence that could be ripped away and torn to shreds if she breathed any harder on his lips.

He turned furiously, making his way arrogantly to the door, grasping the handle and pushing it forward with unnecessary force.

Tru exhaled shakily, her muscles exhausted with the resistance. Any closer and she would have lost it, she knew. She collapsed onto the couch, tears welling around her rims and sobs threatening to convulse.

She had seen the way his eyes burned.

Jensen.

When he had grabbed her and forced his lips onto hers.

She had witnessed Jack's longing, as well.

The same fire burned in both of them.

She had yet to discover which one of them was more of a threat, which one of them held the greater danger. And in which one of them did the fire scorch hotter.

* * *

**A/N: I stole a line from the season two episode, _Enough_; "more like a guarantee". Originally it was spoken by Jack to Tru about the consequences of Tru keeping Jensen alive to begin with, and I thought it worked nicely in that last scene. Kind of a parallel to the series and fate's consequences.**

**Reviews are appreciated.**

**Peace.**


	6. Neutral

**A/N: Sorry for the wait; I know I promised a speedy update and haven't delivered but November has been a busy month for me, so bear with me (which I know you will) :).**

**The next chapter deals with something that a few of you may think of as inconceivable. I won't tell you what it is but the last few parts of the chapter are involved with this issue. I will explain it (and why I wrote it that way) in the chapter's end author notes.**

**Thanks to those who reviewed; keep 'em coming guys!**

**On with the show.**

* * *

**Blood of a Stranger  
****Chapter Six: Neutral****

* * *

**

Balance. A pure equality of two beings. Perfect, symmetrical. Completely synchronised at a neutral point. The scales didn't tip; they didn't even move. They were perfectly still. Whatever power balanced them was potent, hot and singeing like a raging fire in the heat of the day. This power fought equally against each other, opposites for a purpose far greater than life itself. Some may have argued that it was life that this power gave; that was only half true. But all life must be born from death. Death was a state of stillness, in all fairness. Death wasn't something to be feared or dreaded; death happened to be a force equalled only by life. Those who hated their life found themselves hoping for death, yet those who enjoyed and even initiated their life seemed to forever deny death, like it were a fatal plague that would strike them down.

The irony was that those who lived their lives happy were most likely to die tragically and suddenly, while the few who hated and despised life suffered through it for a greater time than most.

Jack Harper couldn't understand why she never listened. Why she never believed him when he said he was only doing fate's work. Which was true, of course. Jack's work was to ensure the cycle of life, and death alike. He had to make sure the deaths of those he monitored went according to plan. He couldn't let anything disrupt those deaths, because fate had planned it in a particular order.

She messed up that order, disrupted it and turned it into chaos.

Jack trailed his eyes over the figure of one such chaotic mess. He watched as Jensen picked his way across the thick-laden snow, trudging his feet heavily. The younger man seemed to be deep in thought, his head down and buried until his chin found itself grating against his neck. The black shirt he was wearing was upturned at the collar. To keep out the cold, Jack guessed casually. Black pants were cold and wet at the ends, dripping water as the snow melted when he walked. The ebony trench coat hung deftly around his body, drifting in the breeze.

Watching carefully from a nearby tree, Jack wondered tentatively at the absolute aimlessness of Jensen. He didn't have any objectives anymore. He just…drifted – for the lack of a better word – through life. He didn't know where he was going, or what he was really doing. He just _was_.

It saddened Jack strangely. If not for Tru and her stubbornness, Jensen wouldn't be suffering in such a way. His soul had never wanted to come back. It hadn't asked to be saved from the other side. And yet Tru brought him back anyway, regardless of knowing his soul hadn't followed.

Jensen was nothing anymore. Just a body moving through life monotonously. Never knowing, never wondering, never thinking. Just doing.

In life and death, balance was everything. And balanced it would be again. Time just had to run its course. Tru just had to see for herself how life was affecting Jensen. She had to bring about his death soon, otherwise he would lose control. Jack didn't want that, he didn't need that. It would only bring more chaos to a darkly bleak situation. And things needed to be balanced.

* * *

Tru laughed. It sounded hollow and unnatural. Forced, almost. She knew she shouldn't be laughing. Not at a time like this. A time when she didn't feel safe, or satisfied with the fact that she held something over her enemy.

She knew that Jensen was alive, and that she had saved him a while back. But his behaviour was scaring her. He was distant, aloof and desiring something beyond this life. She didn't know what that was. Maybe a side effect, a _consequence _as Jack liked to call it. A breech of the order. Chaos.

Tyler glanced at a weary Tru with a worried look. "You seem tired today. Long night?"

Tru smiled reassuringly despite herself. "Not really. Caffeine hasn't kicked in yet."

Avery frowned and sketched something on her pad of paper roughly. "That's why you don't get addicted to that stuff. The withdrawal is hard."

Wondering curiously at the emphasis her friend played on that last word, Tru stifled a yawn and stretched her arms over the laboratory table. It was morning, pushing into the afternoon, and the three of them were sitting around one of the rooms in the campus and studying. Well, studying was not the right word. There was no right word, or at least Tru couldn't think of one.

Despite the lazy mood and the relaxed atmosphere, nothing could keep Tru from lurking back to the previous night when she had seen Jensen. Omitting the after hours meeting from the talk with her friends, Tru was left alone to mull over the eerie encounter with her assumed boyfriend.

He had seemed out of it, completely consumed by something that was not there. He hadn't responded to her calling his name, and it took a rough jerk of his arm to lure his attention. He had relayed his revelation to her, how he was no longer trying to prove himself to his father, how he no longer cared what his parental thought of him. A far cry from the Jensen she had once known.

His eyes had been cold, showing no emotion to betray his stoic stature. It had been a moonless night, no light shining on his features to offer them warmth. It was pure coldness in the chilled night.

She felt scared of what was showing through to be the person he had become. Because of her.

No, she reasoned. It couldn't be because of that. Jensen was probably going through something that had caused a reaction in him. That was all.

Then why did Tru's blood seem frozen within her veins at the thought of him?

She didn't want to think about what she may have inadvertently created. She just wanted to live in a state of numbing disbelief, an innocent ignorance. In spite of what she knew deep within herself.

Jensen's absence during the study session was noted by all of them, though it remained unspoken. It was a sort of embracing grace that silenced them. They all knew something was wrong with him, but didn't want to be the one to say it. Maybe it would all disappear into the day and not be noticed ever again. Maybe it was just a passing thing. Maybe it would go away.

Maybe.

The swinging doors were opened, white and pure against the tall figure awash in black walking through them.

Crystal blue eyes met with deep hazel ones in the poor light of the room. Just a brief encounter and one, it seemed, of pure malice. Then his eyes became warm and alight before the three of them as he sauntered into the room, his long black coat flailing behind him.

There was a fleeting silence, though it was compelling and filled the room.

Tyler was the first to speak, his voice loud and embracing. "Jensen, glad you could make it! Pull up a chair, we only just started."

"Thanks," Jensen countered with a grateful happiness, shrugging off his coat and searching for a lab coat. "Freezing outside. Nice in here, though."

He kissed Tru's cheek in a quick, fluid motion when he straightened the collar on the white lab coat. Tru smiled at him warmly and for a moment it seemed like they really were happy. That it wasn't just a pretence for a more disturbing motive.

Outwardly, Tru showed no sign of the deep confusion she was feeling. It felt like a knife twisting deep in her heart. She hadn't known why Jensen's eyes had been so cold to her. She didn't know why it all felt like an act. She didn't know why she felt so betrayed.

She turned to him, suddenly and daringly. "You're still coming tonight, aren't you?"

He frowned, confused. His eyes were warm and curious. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

She brushed off the thought with a shrug, offering another smile. "No reason."

Avery twirled the pencil between her fingers, flicking away stray blonde hairs with her other hand. "What plans befall you two tonight?"

Jensen threw his voice, deepening it and making it sound hoarse. "A night of Alfred Hitchcock."

Tyler met Jensen's eyes and the two of them laughed manically, revelling in the madness of the thought. Tru rolled her eyes while Avery feigned a yawn.

Something caught Tru's eye as she turned around. There was someone lurking around outside the room; she could see him through the small, metric windows on the doors. Something fluttered within her, excitement raged deep within her nerves.

He paced outside the room, knowing she would notice him without any effort. Jensen noticed him, too, and he threw an agitated look towards him. Tru excused herself from the group, leaving them to stare after her as she walked over to a waiting Jack Harper.

"Are you aware that loitering is a crime?" she spoke with heavy-laden sarcasm, almost like a dripping venom from her lips. The previous night was all but forgotten. Maybe it was the four straight vodka shots she had dared to throw down.

Jack ceased to pace and leaned against the wall with a casual foot. "Well aware. How is he?"

Tru glared at him, inching closer. "What did you do to him?"

"Nothing. I just saw him as I was walking to pick up some breakfast and noticed he looked," he paused, searching for the right few words to roll off his tongue, "not quite right."

Scoffing lightly, Tru crossed her arms over her chest. "That's none of your business."

"Well," Jack retorted with a light tone, "considering he's messing up fate's plan, I'd guess it is my business."

Her features didn't falter, her piercing look didn't give way. "Did you just come her to play word games…?"

Offering a small smirk, Jack tilted his head. "No, actually I came here to throw you a bone."

"Speak," she spoke sharply, not giving him an inch of emotion.

He spoke quickly, not wasting precious time. "I want you to think about Jensen. I want you to notice how he's been affected by you keeping him here. I want you to see what your selfishness has caused and what it might cause him to become."

"Jack," Tru said loudly, rasing her voice, "if you think you're going to beat me by using that weapon, think again. I'm not giving Jensen up. I've already done the hard part; I beat you. So go away."

"You're seeing it more clearly now, aren't you?" Jack's voice sobered, his words barely whispers. "The way he's been acting, how he looks at you now, his distance from you…it's all there, and you're seeing it."

"You don't know anything, Jack," Tru said clearly before turning around and walking back towards the large doors.

Jack smiled after her, a sad, fleeting gesture of sympathy. "I hope not. For your sake."

He watched her push the doors open and stride through, not giving him a glancing look over her shoulder. No goodbye. No thanks for the help. Just her back to him. It saddened him that she didn't listen. This problem could be fixed so much quicker otherwise. Jack gave a final look before retreating. He would make her listen, one way or another. If it took forever, he would make her listen.

* * *

It was dark, lowly and cosy. There was an eerie aura to it all, though Tru didn't mind. Jensen held her; his arms were embracing her protectively. She was against him, relying completely on him to support her. They were cuddled on her couch in front of the television, Jensen with his head over hers, his chin resting on her dark locks. They were together in a peaceful kind of harmony for the first time in months. They were happy just being there, together. There was no malice, no spite. Nothing. Just pure happiness.

A woman screamed from the screen, the black and white images depicting a time long ago. A time when treachery and murder were in their prime. It was all great entertainment, it sold and people delved right into it.

Tru's face held a scared consternation; she didn't know what was going to happen. The woman could be gunned down at any time, or stabbed to death in the dark of the woods. Tru's fingers gripped the sleeve of Jensen's shirt with a strength she hadn't known she possessed. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweating.

Jensen smiled. He loved watching Tru's horrified looks and he listened contently for her worried gasps. He wasn't really watching the movie; he was watching Tru. He wanted to see her reaction to it. He wanted to anticipate how she was going to act, what looks her face would twist into, how hard her fingernails were going to dig into his skin as she gripped his arm. He felt exhilarated by it. He felt empowered.

He spoke quietly, "Do you think maybe we can choose whether or not we die?"

Tru frowned. She felt the chill creeping up her spine again. It pinched her neck and she closed her eyes. She remembered what Jack had said that day, about how Jensen was acting. His behaviour was different, but it changed. Sometimes he was the sweet Jensen he had always been. And other times Tru didn't recognise him.

She felt compelled to answer him, even though the music in the movie had increased dramatically. "I don't know. I guess we can, if we really want to."

"I'm not talking about suicide," Jensen said quickly. "I mean, if we want to die, is there any way we can will ourselves over to the other side?"

Tru felt oddly disturbed. He was scaring her again. Talking about death. It didn't make her feel safe. It wasn't a place she wanted to be. "Jensen, can we just watch the movie?"

He smiled at her pensive reply and retreated into silence again, waiting for the movie to end patiently.

Tru felt an unease seep into her and as the movie ended, she was growing anxious. She hadn't wanted the movie to end; that had been her solace.. her escape from the way Jensen was making her feel uncomfortable. She didn't want to be trapped in his web.

The credits rolled and Jensen yawned, stretching back his arms over the back of the couch. Tru turned around and smiled at him. He returned it, warmth returning to his blue eyes. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, brushing away the hair that strayed over her eyes. His hand found the back of her neck and he pulled her in, capturing her lips with a perfect grace. He wasn't rough like the night before; this time his lips were soft and warm and they rode hers slowly, passionately.

She broke the kiss gently, leaning over him. One of his hands rested on the small of her back, while his other one laced its fingers around her dark hair. She looked into his eyes; they were lustrous and full of passion. She gave him a wicked smile, playful and daring. He laughed quietly.

Her fingers were wound deftly through his shirt and she felt for the top button, twisting it free with an effortless flick. He looked at her, eyes serious. It was a silent question, but one she understood all the same. She had seen that look many times before.

She answered it with a small smile as her finger ran down the front of his chest.

They had never been there before. Had never gone that far. And it surprised him that she would give into him after feeling so insecure lately. He knew how she looked at him sceptically, with hesitant eyes and a watchful gaze.

She pulled herself up, holding his hand and leading him forward.

* * *

The snow fell hard, with a quiet vengeance in the darkness of the night. There wasn't a sound. No cars to ruin the peace, no loud, thumping music coming from the many buildings that lay strewn across the roads. None of that.

That was how Jack liked it; quiet, almost silently deafening. It was a solace to him. He would escape the daily demands by walking through the night. There was no moon; it lay hidden beneath the heavy clouds.

Jack felt a deep sinking within himself as he looked up at one particular building, one singular window. There was no light, there hadn't been much all night. Though he knew she wasn't alone.

It hurt him like nothing else. And the worst part was that he didn't even know why. Why should it affect him so much? She didn't love him. He didn't even love her. It wasn't love, it was something else. Something inexplicable. Something that would never really be complete.

Jack knew everything had to be balanced. He looked on, compelled. It wasn't cold for him this night, even though it was below freezing. He didn't feel it. He just looked on.

* * *

**A/N: So I promised to explain why I put in something that some of you may think of as strange. I'm talking about Tru sleeping with Jensen. Yes, she could tell something was wrong with him. Yes, she was chilled about it. Yes, she was confused. Yes, she doesn't know what she is doing.**

**This will further be explained in the sequel to this story, when an event causes Tru to decline into darkness and fall apart. However, as far as sleeping with Jensen goes, Tru is in some sort of denial; she doesn't want to believe what is happening to Jensen to be true, even though deep down, she does know.**

**I hope that is explained somewhat throughout the story, but even if it is not, the sequel will prove it so.**

**Peace.**


	7. Disillusion

**A/N: Hopefully that wasn't too long a break…but anyway, I've brought with me another chapter of _Blood of a Stranger_. I'm really proud of this chapter; I think it shows brilliantly the denial Tru has created over Jensen, and at the end of this chapter, that will all be shattered. Anyway, enjoy it, as I know you will, and thanks for reviewing my last chapter :)**

**

* * *

**

**Blood of a Stranger  
Chapter Seven: Disillusion**

* * *

_When will the price for the blood be paid?_

_For none of that; none of the dark desires and reckless words will be justice enough in the end._

_No, this end will not justify the means. _

_It comes down to one decision in the end. And that is a sacrifice, a beckoning forth of a mistake._

_Only one thing can change, only one thing can be fixed. _

_Then a balance will be drawn, equal on both sides. _

_Though when will the decision be made? When will the price be paid? When will the end justify the means? When will it all be fixed? _

_When will be there a balance?_

* * *

A rustle disturbed the gracious silence that pooled over the room. It was deafening, piercing in the early hours of the morning. There was a stream of light that shone from the exposed window, showering rays of warmth over the sleeping figure. Thick fog glassed the window, stray crystals of ice melting slowly onto the outside pane. There was a distant outline of a fig tree bordering the horizon, marking a brilliant white blanket over the pink sky with its branches of snow.

She put off opening her eyes. She hadn't wanted the dreams to end. They were comforting, fragmented and of carefree times when there was no pressure to compete for the lives of a few people. She didn't have an opposite in her dreams; they often worked together, not as voyeurs for fate, but back at the morgue. There, they worked side by side, withstanding the gruesome details and painful grieving, and simply falling back on one another, relying on each others' strengths.

She knew that could never happen. It was wrong even to be entertaining ideas of it. In reality, they _were _opposites, enemies. Sworn to succeed at all costs. Never to give in to temptation and leave behind everything they so desperately wanted out of. They knew they couldn't do that.

It was strange how little regret Tru felt at opening her eyes, after dreading wakening. Her vision was blurry, as it should be, but when her eyes began to focus, she found herself staring into his blue eyes, perfect and deep in the morning's rays of sunlight.

He stared down at her, sitting on the edge of the small bed. He wore a curious look, his blonde hair mattered and unruly. She didn't care; she liked it that way.

Jensen spoke quietly, so as not to disturb the perfect silence they had found. "You talk in your sleep."

Tru's lips thinned into a smirk. "Did you write down their names?"

He laughed, small and hollow as he leaned down over her. "Funny, I only heard mine spoken."

Tru flattened herself against the soft, white blankets, her expression feigning a frown. "Then I guess you're just lucky." She paused, realising for the first time Jensen was dressed. "Where are you going?"

He smiled at her pensive question, shifting forward on the bed. "I have a job interview in an hour. Thought I'd make a good impression by showing up early."

She quirked her eyebrow, smiling at him as he bent down and kissed her forehead softly. "Where's the interview?"

Jensen slid off the bed, clutching his boots skilfully with one hand. He grinned at her. "The morgue."

Tru stared, almost shocked. He hadn't told her? Was he trying to surprise her?

Jensen noted her silence and assumed the worst. "What's wrong?"

She looked at him in his black coat, tall and confident with his concerned smile. "Nothing. You just…you didn't tell me."

He leaned down over her again and brushed a few strands of hair away from her eyes. "Yeah, I know. I wanted to surprise you. But tell me if you think I'm crowding you or something, I don't want that."

She lightly fingered the bed sheets, the soft cotton drifting through her like smoke. "No, I don't think that. What happened to the clinic? You're still volunteering there, right?"

"Yeah, just not as much," he said fleetingly, glancing at his watch impulsively. "I wanted a change of pace, you know?"

Tru nodded carefully, concern spilling through her, though she had no idea why. She had a fleeting feeling that her concern arose from the discomforting comments Jensen had made recently about death. And now he was sideling closer to it. Maybe that wasn't such a good thing, for Jensen and for Tru herself. She didn't know.

Tru felt something gnaw at her mind and she thought suddenly of something. "You're still coming tonight, right? My dad's work function, celebrating ten years of his firm…"

Jensen glanced at her with a small smile. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

Something caught Jack's eye immediately as he sauntered into the diner casually. He walked through the aromatic scent of strong coffee and desperate customers until he reached one of the more secluded booths. She hadn't noticed him yet and he coughed loudly, deliberately, and held out his hand carefully.

"Excuse me?" He looked earnestly at her, smiling warmly. "Mind if I sit down?"

She looked at him, recognition burning in her deep blue eyes. She nodded emphatically, returning his warm smile. "Sure."

Jack slid in opposite her, his eyes straining at the thought of her name. "Avery, right?"

Avery's smile widened graciously as she lifted a finger and nodded. "Jack. I'm good with names."

He laughed, quietly amused. "Yes you are. I don't usually do this but we have someone in common, and I'm just trying to be friendly."

"I don't mind the company, if that's what you're worried about," she said easily, "but I have to warn you, I'm meeting Tru for breakfast in about ten minutes."

"No problem," Jack countered while folding his hands on the table, "I'm not looking to intrude."

She looked at him, a long glance, taking him in. She noted that he hadn't shaved in a while. "So how long have you known Tru? She doesn't really talk about you."

"Nice to know," Jack joked quietly, "but seriously, we've known each other just under a year, now. We're not really close, as such, but I'd say I've seen a few sides of Tru she likes to keep," he paused, sobering his eyes, "hidden."

Avery noticed the way Jack's eyes suddenly darkened. "Yeah, I've noticed she's not really all she seems. She keeps a lot of things quiet. Even from Jensen."

"That's not such a bad thing," Jack whispered distantly.

Managing a shrug, Avery searched her eyes over Jack. "Guess not."

"Hey, Jack."

Jack turned at the quiet voice, smiling up at the figure standing above him. "Tru, Avery and I were just talking about you."

Tru raised an inquisitive brow towards Jack, while she smiled a greeting at Avery. "All good, I hope."

Jack shrugged with a smile. "What else is there?"

Without her smile faltering, Tru whispered forcefully through her teeth, "I think you should leave now."

Pulling himself out of the booth, Jack brushed past her, his lips inches from her ear. "Already gone."

Avery returned Jack's small wave and glanced at Tru. "He's nice. What's your problem with him?"

"Nothing, really," Tru answered her friend's casual accusation, "we're just up and down a lot."

Avery shrugged it off. "Can't see why, he's a great guy. I ordered you a cappuccino; they're running slow today."

"What else is new?" Tru quipped as she gave a final glance towards Jack's retreating figure. She sighed, feeling suddenly defeated. She wondered curiously why Jack always had that affect on her.

* * *

The evening was abuzz with movement, idle chatter and the shrill clinking of champagne glasses. Classical music played softly from overhead, ignored but still content as it seeped through into the crowded hall. There was a chandelier; brilliant in its fullness, with crystal diamonds overhanding its middle and sprouting out like a fountain. Hollow laughter echoed, resounding and offering a relaxed mood.

Tru shifted anxiously against the cold wooden surface of the bar. Although the hall radiated a magnificent heat from a few central hearths, she stood shivering. She began to regret the decision to not wear anything over her cobalt cocktail dress, its sides splitting up almost to her thighs. It hung low over her chest, held up only by two thin straps either side of her shoulders. She had left her hair flowing in a dark river of locks, brushed evenly to mask her face. She stood out with her ruby lipstick, waiting alone by the bar.

She had fought off several suggestive comments already, relaying earnestly that she truly _was_ waiting for someone. Harrison was standing proudly beside his father, receiving glowing remarks from colleagues and guests respectively. Tru was honestly happy for him, having come from the slumps of losing late night poker games to winning a job in his father's law firm. Even if he had taken the easy road, Tru had to offer him a winning hand.

Resisting the urge to glance at her phone for any messages, Tru sighed in impatient contempt. She had told him over and over again, where it was and at what time he was to meet her. Did she worry? Of course. But not for him. This had been happening far too regularly for him to be in any trouble. She had tried to ignore it, tried to let it boil and simmer into the next day. But it was still there.

And Jensen wasn't.

Again she felt alarmed; she tried to suppress the deep shiver that ran down her back and pinched at her nerves. She knew something was wrong. Jensen had failed to show. Again. And the clock was running down its minutes, with only an hour left until the hall dispersed and the laughter died down.

Tru glanced at an idle Richard Davies, talking to someone quietly in one of the corners, tall glass of champagne in his rigid hand. He smiled at her from across the room, lighting up his taut features briefly before they dispatched into cold and hard again. Deep under the skin, where the heart lay, Tru knew he loved her. She knew he loved all of them. She knew he still loved her mother, deep and passionate like soul mates do. She knew he loved Jordan, and their children. What he didn't show on the outside, she could feel on the inside, when his heart beat every time he was near. She just knew.

She felt a presence sidle in beside her and she was ready for the onslaught of insults that were tingling on the tip of tongue, until she looked to see who it was. He smiled at her, knowing he had surprised her. He was dressed informally, donning a black leather jacket and what seemed to be a navy shirt underneath. Black jeans completed his attire. She felt disgusted that he should show up to such an occasion dressed as he was, then she stopped suddenly, wondering oddly _why_ he was there to begin with.

The words just rolled off, full of an element of surprise and partially dripping with a spiteful malice, "What are you doing here?"

"Richard invited me," Jack Harper began with a charming tone of voice. "He's a great guy. Don't know why you don't take after him."

"Don't talk about my family like I'm not here," Tru replied coldly. Her hazel eyes were dark, the rims painted with think liner.

Jack sucked in a quick, mocking breath before resting his elbows on the surface of the bar counter. "I can't talk about your family, I can't talk about your boyfriend, I can't talk about Luc…tell me, Tru, what can I talk about?"

She straightened, aware suddenly that her heels made her tower over him. She felt strangely empowered. "What you're doing here."

He nodded once, licking his bottom lip impulsively. "Your father has been helping me with some legal advice. He and I hit it off at your apartment over Christmas Eve. Don't know why you didn't introduce me to him sooner."

"Careful," Tru whispered as she feigned a smile, "he's married."

Jack laughed through his teeth, catching a glimpse at a watchful Richard. "Cute. But he's not my type."

Tru tightened her lips together. "No, your type is the one that doesn't talk back, the one that will follow your every command without protest. The real silent ones. The real easy ones."

Jack looked at her, long and studying. She had no idea. Or if she did, she didn't let it slip. "So, you're still waiting for him. How long has it been now? Three hours? Let me guess, he's stuck in traffic."

Tru felt something stiffen inside of her. She let her heart sink into its dark pit. Jack had brought her strangely back to reality. Jensen was not coming. "You really shouldn't be here. You might cause the guests much distress, if they found out you're death."

Lowering his gaze, Jack breathed out slowly. "Life and death. They're both too simple analogies for what we are. We're so much more than that." He gave her a knowing look before turning to the bar tentatively. "I'll buy you a drink."

"Don't waste your money," she came to his rescue suddenly, "I can get them for free. Two tequila and lemonades."

The barman flashed her a small smile. "Sure thing, Miss Davies. Enjoying your evening?"

"I was," Tru returned the small man's smile before offering Jack a falsely sweet one.

The music resonated hollowly around them. They stood in a comfortable silence, neither of them feeling the need to break it with taunting banter. It was a nice silence, one that inspired lingering looks, hopeful glances, and a sad reckoning that threatened to tempt them into leaving each other's sides. It couldn't last, they knew that, but there was something crawling around them, inching them closer, narrowing the gap that divided them.

Harrison latched a watchful gaze onto the two as they stood side by side, almost enjoying each other's company. Or so it seemed. Harrison was weary, ever since she brought him home to her apartment on Christmas Eve. He hadn't liked that. It was like Jack was crawling into their lives, clutching at the edges and hoping to be part of them. Harrison would let it reach that point. He would kick and scream before it came to that. Jack Harper being a part of Tru's life was one thing, but being a part of the family's life was another. He was becoming too close. And Harrison didn't like it.

He felt a ginger hand on his shoulder and turned around, not surprised to see his father reigning down on him. "Hey, Dad. Finishing up soon?"

Richard let his hand slip from his son's shoulder as he swept his gaze around the room. "Should be. Have to make a few more rounds but that shouldn't take long. I'll wrap it up soon, it's getting late."

It lay unspoken between them for the very reason that it _had _to. Richard couldn't risk telling his son the truth yet, and thus he bit his tongue, resisting asking his son's stance on Jack's behaviour with Tru. Richard stood with a worried feeling. He didn't want them ending up like he had with his wife. That had been a mess. But that was not why he wanted so much for them to break apart, to go their separate ways until they had to meet again. No, that reason ley unbidden and repressed in the back of his mind.

Harrison sighed anxiously. They were standing close, drinks in their hands and talking quietly. He could see it clearly, the way Jack was slowly charming her. It sickened him that she should be falling for the older man's act. It wasn't right, it was just a ploy. A diversion. Jack didn't really care about Tru, he just wanted her to fall and give in to him. To give up. But Harrison wouldn't let that happen, whatever the cost.

Tru let her eyes fall from her brother's quickly. Even though he was a fair distance away, she could tell what he was thinking. They were of the same blood, of course. It was only fitting that they should know each other in and out. But the way Harrison was telling the story with his eyes, warning her sharply from across the hall. It made her blood curdle and freeze over in her veins.

She turned her attention back to Jack, who stood watching her curiously, amused. She gave him a look. "What?"

He looked away, his eyes smiling and his lips smirking. "Nothing. Just admiring human behaviour at its best."

She placed her foot and turned to stand in front of him, quirking her eyebrow dangerously. "If you think you're actually funny, try looking in a mirror. You'll be horrified at the discovery."

Jack swallowed. He tried not to look at the perfect structure of her shoulders, and how solid they seemed when her arms were crossed. Her skin was flawless, tanned and dappled in the poor light of the chandelier. He stopped himself, continuing with the careless teasing.

"Already have been," his voice sounded parched and he took another sip of his drink, admiring the taste of sweet alcohol on his tongue. "Really should get around to buying new mirrors."

Tru stifled a laugh at his philosophy. It wasn't the person that was unattractive; it was their reflection in the mirror. She was chilled suddenly, the shiver racing up and down her spine once more. Something called in the back of her mind. Something whispered.

Jack noticed her face was faltering. The smile disappeared from her lips. He sobered, calmly moving towards her. "You're worried about him."

"Jack, what's going on?" Tru's voice was barely a whisper, dripping with a desperation that overwhelmed her. "Where _is_ he? He didn't even call…"

Carefully placing the cocktail glass back on the wooden counter, Jack gingerly touched her shoulder, then retracted his hand immediately when she flinched. "I'll help you find him. If you want."

Her eyes met his deep blue ones and suddenly she snapped wide awake. Jack Harper was offering his help on a silver platter. He would help her find Jensen, help to bring him back down to earth and hopefully help him recover. Tru knew that wouldn't happen, though. Deep down, Tru knew the solution to the problem. And it did not lie in helping Jensen live. It lay in him dying.

She shrugged his hand away, shifting back. She knew she had to find him. "No, I'll go."

Jack could only stare after her as she brushed her way through the crowd, sweeping in and out and away. His eyes wavered until they met with a pair of cold, dark blue ones. Richard Davies stared back, a haunting malice driving between the two.

* * *

It was cold, too cold for what she was wearing. The navy dress seemed thin and soft like a flowing satin. The breeze caught itself between the material, ravaging it as Tru walked briskly. She was in a state of shock. She was desperate to find him, to know where he was and what he was doing. Rational thought had been flushed away. She was being carried purely by a force greater than what she knew.

The streets were dark and deserted. She was alone as she walked, onwards avoiding the think and heavy-laden snow. The snow had ceased to fall a couple of hours ago and she was thankful for that.

She didn't know where she was walking. She didn't care. As long as she walked she felt as if she was getting somewhere. Even though she had no real idea where to look for him.

There was a dark alley where there was a lack of light from the streets. She felt a powerful pulling feeling. Compelling even.

A gunshot.

Hollow and echoing in the moonless night. It was blunt, with nothing but the echo following it.

She saw an outline of a figure standing in the alley. That was where she walked, further still into a black abyss of darkness.

She inched closer, aware suddenly that the figure was indeed Jensen. She knew what had happened. She knew now where the loud gunshot had come from.

Blood.

So much. A pool, it seemed, streamed out from underneath the head of a body.

Smoke from the gun poured out, wispy and flowing into the cracks of the narrow alleyway. Tru saw large dumpsters and scaffolding. She was suddenly in awe of them. Her mind didn't want to turn back to the body crumpled in a heap on the ground.

Her name was spoken, softly and surprised. He wasn't panicking in any way. He sounded amused that she should wander in and witness his act of sacrifice.

Crimson stains were splattered everywhere. She could see them. She didn't know how.

She felt herself fading, her vision blurring in almost slow motion. She whispered deathly into the crisp night, "Jensen…"

A cold hand grasped her ankle, pulling her down. The hand was covered in blood, staining her skin. A voice echoed, desperate and resonating in her mind, pulling her forward violently.

"Help me."

* * *

**A/N: Creepy…but it was so much fun to write :)**

**Peace**


	8. Backwards

**A/N: **Woot, I've got lots of time now so expect updates! Firstly, I would like to mention that the end of the last chapter was very vague and ambiguous, but for a reason. In the reviews I received, it was misconceived that _Jensen _was the one who had died and asked Tru for help. He wasn't. I failed to clearly give a clarification between Jensen and _the body he was standing over_. It won't be revealed until later in this chapter who Jensen actually killed, but it will eventually be a major turning point in the story.

Thanks to those who reviewed; you guys are great :)

Anyway, now Tru knows she will have to end Jensen's life, but how will she do it?

Enjoy!

* * *

**Blood of a Stranger**  
**Chapter Eight: Backwards****

* * *

**

_She was lost in her dream. A reverie of reflection. She stared in the mirror. Long and hard. Her eyes were stained with the running mascara, the tears leading the smears of black. Her lips were dark with a plumb liner. Or maybe she was dead. She didn't know. Her eyes were hollow, though, void of any emotion. She couldn't feel anything. She was cold with a numbing sensation. _

_She felt a cold hand grasp her bare shoulder, its fingers curling around the blade. Although cold as ice, the hand fed her warmth. The black running steadily down her cheeks seemed to fade. Her eyes softened, emotion returning to them. _

_She saw in the mirror as he came to stand beside her, his face a delicate mask of tenderness. His lips curved at the sides as he smiled gently into the reflection. His dark hair was wet, dripping, and flattened in parts. She could see, nearly hidden beneath his shirt, there were small droplets that ran in rivulets down his neck. _

_She shivered. Because of the renewed heat, she felt a bitter coldness embrace her. His hand ran down from her shoulder to her waist and encircled it, pulling her close to him. When he had slid his hand down, his finger had excited shivers through her arms. _

_She closed her eyes. She wanted to devour the moment in its ripeness. She wanted it to last forever. She opened her eyes, slowly, as if awakening from a deep sleep. He was still there. He looked at her through the mirror with those wilful blue eyes, penetrating her inner thoughts and desires. _

_She stared back._

_She thought it funny suddenly how what he had said about reflections some time ago seemed to hold true now. Here they were, star-crossed and hungry for something more, two incomplete souls standing before the same mirror. A reflection of a whole, a completion. Ying and yang, black and white. Life and death._

_They saw what they wanted to see. Not what they had to see. _

_It was only a dream but it had to hold something else deep within it. Some hidden truth, some smouldering desire. _

_The mirror shattered, killing the image of two lovers in a splitting disperse of glass shards._

* * *

Her eyes shot open, wide and afraid. Scared of what she had witnessed. The afterimage of bloodstains haunted her. The gunshot resonated, grew louder upon recognition. Her ankle ached from being pulled down and under, sucked back through the waters of time. She still heard his whisper, that dead voice that yearned for her.

_Help me._

She heard a rustle in the almost blinding light of the sun through her wavering curtains. She looked over, chilled suddenly by the cold sweat dripping down the side of her face. It stung her.

She saw his face, earnest and gentle in the morning's rays. He had a sweetness about him that sickened her. His smile sent her blood ice cold. His pure blue eyes conveyed warmth and a sense of afterglow as he stared down contently at her from the edge of her bed. But all she could feel was numbing coldness.

He opened his mouth and spoke words of raging venom with his warm and gentle tone of voice, "You talk in your sleep."

She couldn't believe this was happening. The words reached her and she shuddered. Her sleep seemed like an eternity away.

Jensen held out his fingers to brush away her unruly curls and she flinched, moving back quickly. He looked hurt suddenly, but if only for a small second. Then he was glowing again.

"Did I tell you I have an interview at the morgue this morning?" he spoke proudly as he smiled down on her. "I'm hoping Davis will accept me as a new assistant."

_Like you even wanted me to know, _Tru thought cynically.

Her mind raced.

This was a killer she had spent the night with. This was a killer she had slept with, in her own bed. She had let him into her home and allowed herself to be serenaded by him. A killer.

What was worse, she had created him. She had taken this sweet young man, ambitious and full of life, and made him into a fascinated killer who liked the danger of death.

She felt like crying, breaking down right there in front of him. Rather, she smiled sweetly and leaned forward to kiss his ice cold, dead lips.

* * *

Jack yawned, a small gesture heralded by the morning smouldering with the remnants of the day before. A day only he and one other person could remember. The mirror lay flat against his pale-tiled bathroom wall. It was rounded, oddly shaping his reflection in the same bulging manner. His eyes were orbs of frustration and suggested ravaging insomnia. They were red around the rims and swollen quite deeply.

He glared into his reflection. He was never satisfied with it, that stranger staring back with a rugged appearance and savage demeanour. He didn't like it.

The dream haunted him. Of course, he found it quite odd that such an occurrence had happened after a rewind. Usually he was just sucked back into the previous d ay, with no dream upon awakening.

But that morning proved to be quite different.

A dream of dangerous passion and a hidden desire buried within the recesses of sanity. But what was sanity if not a restriction? A force holding someone back from what they secretly harboured, desires that were morally wrong and potentially threatening? A barrier dividing wrong from right, dangerous from safe, careless from cautious.

Evil from good.

He shivered. An involuntary action from the gathering thoughts that threatened to simmer and boil over before him.

He glanced a look at the clock. It was time.

Jack made his way carefully through his apartment, its wooden floorboards hardly creaking under his light steps. He reached the glistening white door and let his hand fall to the handle. It all seemed like dull poetry, forced and routine.

The prying eyes that caught his as the door drew back before him didn't surprise him. They didn't cause him to retreat or pull back in any way. They kept him there, those wide, careful eyes that usually would not let him in for a second.

And here they were, open and crying out for his help.

He wasn't alarmed by her sudden appearance. He had even expected it, after last night.

She looked just as ravaged as he did, even more so. She had witnessed it, he assumed. Otherwise they wouldn't be here, reliving the day and hoping for a different result. He didn't need to speak, didn't need to ask why she had come to him. He knew.

Tru opened her parched lips, though only partially. She could barely feel them peel apart, though she heard the words that followed, "Help me, Jack."

* * *

Jensen straightened his tie while clearing his throat impulsively. The morgue calmed him, its clean walls methodically sanitary. The smell captivated him the most; awash in a coat of cleaning agent, with the under current of death seeping into the air. It made him feel alive, and indeed invincible. Even though he longed for that place that was hidden to him, he needed to feel like he lived. He needed to keep that spark ignited. It was necessary.

The halls were quiet; generally they were and this time he expected nothing less. Little noise penetrated the silent air, apart from the occasional clatter of a sterile scalpel or the soothing splitting of a body being opened. This was how he liked it.

His ears were numb to that man's speech; it was simply distant ringing as they walked steadily down the hall towards the main lobby.

"…and of course, the stomach for this kind of work has to be, somewhat, resistant to the more…gruelling details of the work," Davis rattled on, unaware of Jensen's deafness to his words. "And we certainly have positions open, at this point in time…"

Jensen could see one in the distance as they walked; one of those bodies awaiting incision. He felt a shiver pinch at the base of his spine. This was what he wanted.

"…it's just a matter of whether or not you're up to the task, so to speak," Davis concluded and stopped in his tracks, turning to face a startled Jensen.

Jensen spread his fingers out in his coat pocket, glancing inquisitively at the stocky man. "Aren't we going to…?" His eyes flicked to the autopsy room longingly.

Davis wrapped his white lab coat around his body and breathed through his teeth, looking down at the tilted floor fleetingly. "I need to know you're fine with this kind of work before we…advance with the tour."

Frowning, Jensen shifted his feet anxiously. "Why wouldn't I be…?"

Davis sighed, fingers gripping the side of his head as he winced silently. He hated asking, but… "I…I don't want this to be your excuse to get closer to Tru."

Jensen clenched his jaw and folded his arms, looking straight into Davis' eyes. "And why, exactly, would you think that?"

The double doors swung behind them, abruptly ending the terse conversation and causing Davis to sigh in quiet relief. Jensen indignantly unclenched his jaw with a hard look towards the older man, before turning around. Before him stood a smiling Tru, her cheeks alive with vibrant colour and life. Jensen looked at her with a smile of his own. Her eyes were swollen. He knew she had been crying.

Immediately, Davis bounded up to Tru with an embracing tone of voice. "Tru, this is unexpected. What brings you here so early?"

"Actually, D," Tru began while stealing her gaze away from Jensen to focus on her expectant boss, "I'm here to wish Jensen good luck for the interview." She paused and lowered her eyes in a secret look aimed at Davis. Jensen caught it with a glare. "But before I do, I was hoping to talk to you, just for a minute…?"

It was all very rehearsed, the way it happened. Jensen saw that.

Davis and Tru were huddled together, branching off into one of the more secluded offices of the morgue, while the formally clad Carrie Allen sauntered out from the boss's office to keep Jensen company.

It was methodical and Jensen didn't like it.

"So," Carrie said quietly while folding her arms and starting towards him with ginger steps, "what kind of work are you looking for?"

Jensen noted the intricate detail of her beautifully framed face, dark hair falling gracefully over her cheekbones and forehead, accentuating her deep brown eyes. "Actually, I was thinking along the lines of what Tru does here. She seems to like it, so why can't I?"

Frowning, Carrie quickly brushed away a few strands of her dark hair that irritated her skin along her cheek. "You're just doing this for Tru?"

Jensen blinked; a careful stroke of his long lashes that brushed lightly over his crystal eyes. "No, I'm doing this for me."

Carrie felt a stinging pinch at the base of her spine as she began to fade out of the conversation, to rather listen in on the one vaguely happening in the next room…

"…_Jensen's dad was the one who asked you for help?" _That was Davis. _"Wh…did you see Jensen kill him?"_

Carrie flicked her eyes nervously to where Jensen was carefully inspecting some of the medical equipment that lay in a precise order on one of the counters.

"_Pretty much. They were in an alley and I heard this gunshot before I found them. Jensen was standing over his father's body, with a smoking gun in his hand. Pretty cut and dried, D."_

Carrie felt her throat suddenly wash into dryness. She cleared it impulsively, though to no avail. The dryness was still there.

"_So what now?" _Davis again, this time his voice sounded strained from an undercurrent of desperation. _"How do you stop it?"_

Tru was silent after that.

* * *

The phone felt extremely far away as Jack held it up to his ear, listening hollowly to the dial tone. His fingers were near to numb with the biting cold, but he kept walking, hoping silently the office he was heading to was warm. He gave full concentration to the phone as the person on the other line answered with a standard "hello". Was it ever any different?

"Carrie," Jack spoke slowly as he walked, "rewind day. I need you to do me a favour."

He waited as she walked out of earshot from whomever she was with. Davis, probably. Possibly even Jensen himself.

Jack flexed his fingers before continuing, "I need you to keep Jensen under your radar for as long as you can. I need to stall him."

He hung up abruptly when she replied with an answer that pleased him. You wouldn't know it, though, not with the way he kept his brows furrowed and his eyes darkly focused. This was a rewind that deeply troubled him, for many reasons.

He was immediately flushed with a comforting warmth as he opened the polished wooden door and met with the cold eyes of Richard Davies. He sat solidly behind his desk, hand to his chin in thought.

"So," Richard's hard voice sounded amongst the soft music he had playing, "the boyfriend finally gave in. Bit early, but nonetheless, convenient. Your job stays exactly the same, Jack."

"Tru wants me to end it," Jack cut through with a tight voice, pulling a black leather chair to him before seating himself in it. "She wants me to end Jensen's life."

Richard let out a quiet breath before leaning his elbows on his desk, meeting Jack's eyes once again. There was a terse tension between them. "And how do you propose to do that?"

Jack was silent. He wasn't quite sure how he would take Jensen's life; he didn't know how exactly to justify his actions. He knew for certain the end would not justify the means. "Jensen killed his father in an alleyway, shot him in the back of the head. You give me a gun, I can make it look clean."

"Murder-suicide?" Richard questioned with a quirked brow.

Jack shrugged. "It's a possibility."

He didn't want to relay to Richard the exact details of the previous night. He had seen the dangerous looks the older man was giving him for approaching his daughter in such a manor.

Roaming his eyes around the room precariously, Richard found Jack's doubtful eyes in a lock that neither of the men could escape. "How close are you and my daughter working on this?"

"Richard," Jack spoke with a hint of sarcasm, though it was carefully hidden, "you don't have to worry. Your daughter is purely…"

The door swung open with excessive force and speed. The intruder stepped over his feet, though only briefly, before he righted himself and turned to Richard without a proper glance at the room.

"Dad," Harrison before, "I-"

He paused, noted Jack's presence, and immediately assumed the worse. He was ready for it.

"What the _hell _is he doing here?" Harrison spat angrily and accusingly, glancing about from his father to his sister's adversary.

Richard smiled innocently, but his eyes reflected a curious confusion. "Harrison, Jack is here to collect some files I compiled for him. He came to me a while ago asking for some legal advice."

Jack gave a small nod in Harrison's direction, sighing a silent breath of relief for Richard's deceitful ways. "Nice to see you, Harrison."

Harrison ran a quivering hand through his mattered blonde hair, shaking his head in disbelief. "Sure it is."

"In fact," Richard continued, almost gushing while he gathered up some stray files from his desk, "I invited Jack to the anniversary dinner tonight. The one celebrating ten years…"

Harrison let his father drift off. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, never mind what he was seemingly hearing. He stared with hard eyes at Jack's slouched form, sitting comfortably on his father's guest chair. And he couldn't be sure, but Harrison thought he saw a small glimmer of malice in Jack's eye, something he had never quite seen before. In anyone.

* * *

**A/N: Ooh, fun times ahead my good friends. Keep ya posted.**

**Peace**


	9. Divided

**A/N: Second to last chapter this one is, and it's a killer ;) Pun intended, of course. It's long, it's epic and it's oh-so delicious. It has lots of implied Tru/Jack goodness, Jensen's evilness, Harrison's fun brooding/complaining, and Richard's annoyingness. Get set.**

**Go.**

**

* * *

**

**Blood Of A Stranger  
****Chapter Nine: Divided**

* * *

The sun breeched through the heavy clouds, lightening them as the day strolled along calmly. The light snow had ceased after the brief shower early that morning, although the cold hadn't seemed to disappear, despite the presence of the sun. The thick layer of snow underfoot was slowly fading, growing smaller and smaller, soon to become pools of icy water.

Tru tried desperately not to sigh in frustration as her brother panted angrily on the other line of her phone. She walked quickly, her mind set on her destination.

"…_and after all of that, he still has the nerve to show up at Dad's office," _Harrison continued his angry rant, though Tru was hardly listening. _"He made up some sad story about legal advice. You know the real reason he was there, don't you?"_

Her brother didn't give her any time to answer his stray question, for he managed to draw a sharp breath before answering it for himself.

"…_he did it to get to me. He wants to…"_

Tru stepped up quickly onto the sidewalk, her hand firmly pressed to her ear. "Harrison, it's a rewind day. I know all about Jack and Dad. He's helping Jack out with some advice regarding a false allegation against him."

She heard Harrison grunt in frustration. _"Doesn't make it right. Out of all the law firms in the city, he chooses Dad's."_

"Yeah, who knew," Tru quipped distractedly while darting her eyes around the street. "Listen, Harrison, Jack is none of your concern. Just don't worry…"

She stopped dead in her tracks when a hand grabbed her loose arm suddenly, turning her around sharply. She found herself staring into the cold, deep blue eyes of Jack Harper, who glared at her with a grim expression.

"Harrison, I have to go," she muttered quickly into her phone before closing it over, her eyes never leaving Jack's.

He spoke quietly, yet very clearly, his tone cold and strained. "Everything okay?"

Tru nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but found her lips were dangerously parched. Her fingers convulsed with small shakes, her heart pounding wildly. She wanted to break down, right there in front of her enemy, and cry deeply into him. She had to pull herself a few steps back away from him so she wouldn't be tempted. Still, she couldn't bring herself to speak.

Jack understood why she resisted speaking. He leaned down so he could whisper to her, "I have Jensen's father covered. I just need to know you can do this. Are you sure this is what you want?"

His eyes bore down on her and she felt intimidated suddenly. She could only nod slowly. There was no other way.

* * *

_He screamed for their blood. He screamed for his father's blood; may it pour out in a river of crimson as his soul soars for the sky. No one would cry for him, least of all his own son. The bitter sensation of resentment crept itself inside of him, clutching onto his vacant memories with a cold malice. He would have no remorse for killing his father; not that he had remorse about any of the other murders. Or, at least not to the degree that it would burn._

_He often felt something of a sadness after he killed. It wasn't something that he could easily explain. It was just like a lagging feeling deep within himself. _

_Never mind, though, as the day wore on and the sun wore thin. _

_His fingers wrapped securely around the handle of the metallic gun and he breathed in her scent. It was some kind of flower; a lily, maybe. He let it draw him in, following it blindly until he reached the back of a construction building, and she was beginning to float up the steel steps, oblivious to his presence. _

_His favourite kind._

_She was in her own little world, absorbed by the happenings of the day and what would come._

_She had no idea, really. _

_Oblivious._

_He liked that word._

_It burned in his mind as he moved quickly, like an unseen enemy, and held the gun to the back of her head. She gasped but didn't turn around. That was exactly how he wanted it. _

_Some may have labelled it an execution. Surely that was what the papers would call it the following morning. That was what the news readers would say about it when the body was found. _

_He liked to call it preparation. _

_Preparation for a bigger kill, a bigger ending. One that was soon to come. _

* * *

He was late. Again. Tru searched for him upon entering the diner, but could not catch sight of him. She knew his interview at the morgue had finished a while ago. She had been there for the most part. Tru sighed in quiet frustration before dismissing her thoughts and plastering on a smile.

It was fake. It was all fake. But it was something she needed to do. She couldn't let Avery notice something was wrong, for the blonde had a habit of doing that, especially with Tru. But, not today, Tru reasoned with herself firmly. She could not afford to let parts of her slip through the cracks; she could not afford for Avery to suspect something.

Tru slid into the booth with a graceful precision, careful not to let her mask fall. "How's it going?"

Avery smiled wryly at her friend's slightly frivolous emphasis on the last word. "Did you know the burgers here are eight dollars? Seriously, you'd think there was a burger shortage…"

"Avery," Tru said quietly, trying to cut into the girl's rant, though to no avail.

"And the fries are an extra four bucks," Avery complained warily, sensing something from Tru; something like a strange vibe. "You're vibe-y. What's wrong?"

Tru frowned, impulsively, then forced her smile back on. It felt wrong. All wrong. "Nothing, I was just thinking about tonight." She saw the blank look her friend offered her and leaned forward to explain. "My dad, the law firm he works at is having this function tonight. It's like a ten-year thing to celebrate achievements and everything. You should go."

Avery raised an inquisitive eyebrow, suspicion rising within her. "Why?"

"It will be good for you," Tru replied quickly, almost too quickly. "And besides, my brother has no one to go with and I don't want him turning up solo for a work function. Doesn't look good."

After a slight pause, Avery flicked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Okay, I'll do it. I don't have to dress up or anything, right?"

Shifting uncomfortably in the booth, Tru gave a small sympathetic look. "It's kind of formal."

"What is?" A silky voice interrupted them and a cold hand was placed on Tru's shoulder. Jensen, seeing Avery's crestfallen look, raised a brow. "Somebody die?"

Tru knew that was in poor taste. Hell it was probably true, the way Jensen was carelessly throwing comments around as if they were nothing. It sickened Tru; she literally felt ill as his hand continued to creep over her shoulder and down her arm. She shrugged it off and plastered her smile back on, welcoming Jensen. Finally.

"I was just telling Avery about Dad's function tonight," Tru explained with a heartened tone of voice, covering up the blood that was draining from her face with a warm smile. "She's coming along to keep Harrison company. You're still coming right?"

Jensen nodded with a small smile of his own. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Tru didn't know how she was able to take that without retching. The lies he was telling, the betrayal he was showing just through his words alone made her sick.

"Mr. Richie?" Avery suddenly felt compelled to spill out in a surprised tone.

Tru looked up to see none other than yesterday's victim standing above her, his hard blue eyes bearing down on her. His hair was cropped short and greying; the way she remembered it from the previous night, though then it had been mattered with his blood.

Tru froze. Hadn't Jack been watching Jensen's father? So why was it he was standing above her, eyeing her with a wary look of disapproval?

"Tru," Jensen began in a quiet, yet oddly proud voice, motioning to his father, "this is my father. He was in town and thought it would be good to meet you, after hearing so many things about you."

She held out her hand. What else could she do? "Nice to meet you," she spoke quietly while he shook her hand with conviction, his stone face not once warming.

"Likewise," he stated in a monotone, pale lips moving forcibly. "Jensen has told me wonderful tings about you. Tell me, was working in a morgue your first choice?"

Suppressing a frown at the strange interrogation, Tru turned a smile to Jensen when he slid in beside her. She inched closer to end of the booth at his nearness. "Actually, no. I was planning to take an internship at a hospital just over a year ago, but their funding fell through."

"Interesting," the stoic man offered a smile before turning to a known face. "Avery, good to see you again."

Avery smiled, almost reverently, at the tall man, whom she had met on many occasions. "You, too, Mr. Ritchie. Are you in town on business, or is this a social call?"

"Hardly," Jensen uttered under his breath, though it was loud enough for Tru to grasp. She tried to ignore it. Her head felt light and she could hardly focus her vision. She prayed she would not pass out.

"Business," the older man concluded, fingering the ties of his striking black trench coat, loosely binding them together. "I really must be going, but it was nice to meet you."

He flashed what might have resembled a smile at Tru, while he gave a small nod to his son, and another smile to Avery, who sat quietly, almost perplexed at the strange occurrence. It seemed forced, somehow.

He was gone in a matter of seconds.

Tru noticed there had been no eye contact between Jensen and his father during that small gathering. The tension was crippling; she felt it still in the air, heavy and thick, like clouds before a storm.

She shivered and felt herself jolt. Pressing her fingers to the side of her head, she breathed steadily, forcing herself to remain calm. She had to.

She excused herself quickly, walking briskly to the bathroom, trying to forget the concerned look Avery offered, and the sickening smile that remained plastered on Jensen's face. The latter, however, she could not remove from her memory. It etched itself in, burned and singed into her mind.

The bathroom was like a sanctuary. The walls were clean and glistening an off white in the bright light. It smelled of lemon disinfectant and pure bleach. She stumbled over to the sinks and ran steaming hot water, closing her eyes slowly.

It helped.

She breathed heavily and cleared her mind. Turning the tap to one side, the running water ceased and she pulled out her phone, fumbling with the opening. Her fingers shook when she dialled the numbers. She was unaware of who she was calling until he picked up.

He sounded surprised, almost concerned. They had it all planned out and now he wondered if she had changed her mind.

That was his first question. _What's wrong? Have you changed your mind?_

She expelled a breath slowly, its shaky quivering scaring her. She didn't know what was happening. "Jack, I…I don't know if I can…just, I needed…"

Something in her voice hurt him. It struck him deep inside and he closed his own eyes. _"It's okay, Tru. It will all be okay."_

She thought it suddenly funny to hear him say those words. She almost laughed, it was so ridiculous. Or maybe it was just one of those moments where all you could do was laugh, you felt so bad. "I just need to hear your voice," she whispered hoarsely.

It hurt her to say those words. After everything that had happened between them, after Luc, after his betrayal, she didn't know how she could say those words. She hadn't forgiven him, wasn't even close to, but somehow his words of reason calmed her. His soft voice reached her in a way it never had before.

She felt drawn in, seduced almost, in a very innocent way.

His words were a dull drawl to her; they didn't make sense. But they helped.

The bathroom door was almost pounded open. Jensen stumbled in with a concerned look. Tru felt like laughing again, in that ridiculous, maniacal manner. He strode over to her, a deep frown lining his haughty features, casting shadows from the bright light of the room. He spoke immediately, his cold, loud voice crashing through her like a ruthless wave and she was crushed by its force, drowning slowly. Painfully.

She didn't even know what he said. She couldn't hear the words, just the tone. The cold, heartless, _soulless _tone.

He touched her shoulders with his hands, his fingertips running up along her arms. She flinched and pulled away, her back knocking hard against the cold tile of the sinks.

Jensen saw her in the mirror. He saw the way she reacted to his touch. He saw the way she was inching toward the wall, where there was essentially nowhere else to go. He saw the way she quivered.

And yet he didn't know why. He didn't know why she was suddenly so repulsed by him. He didn't understand her hurtful actions.

She knew she had to hang up the phone. She knew this because her voice was being called, continuously, in a concerned tone, static breeching through and making his words robotic.

Of course, Jensen heard the other man. Somehow, he always could.

He snatched the phone from her grip with the simplicity of two swift fingers, closing it over with a sharp clasp.

Jack's voice was gone. He was no longer there.

There was only Jensen.

The killer.

The murderer.

The slaughterer.

Tru laughed. Soft and gently. Like the entire ordeal was a pitiful scenario her brain had pitted against her. She shrugged it all off and fell into Jensen's waiting embrace, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her. She breathed him in, his sweet scent of musk drifting to her. She tasted the salty sweat of his neck as she kissed him softly, her lips pressing gently into the hollow where his neck gaped. She hugged him tighter. She felt him rise and fall with every breath he took. Her fingertips laced around the side of his neck, towards the base of his head where she gently fingered the small tufts of golden curls.

He didn't resist. Didn't pull back, Didn't repel.

Was is not the previous night when they had made love?

He loved her.

And yet he didn't understand her. He didn't know her. He didn't trust her.

And time would only tell.

* * *

The sick pounding in her head nauseated her. The classical music played resounding throughout the hall, the polished walls glistening with supremacy. The haunting chandelier spilled its flowing crystal waters over its rim, the golden light streaming from it drawing patterns around her. Voices whispered harshly, drowning out her sense of clarity.

The room was spinning around her. She felt the pressure building up, tightening its grip around her temples. She felt like passing out. She very well might have, if not for the greater purpose looming ahead of her.

And loom it did.

No, loom was not the right word. It was too simple a word for this; too easy. Too sound.

She couldn't even think of a word that would describe in intricate detail the pain constricting her chest, or the violent shaking on the inside of her hands, or the cruel pounding in her head. No word would fit the devastation for such a reverberation.

He pressed a gentle hand to her arm, gripping it lightly and turning her to look at him.

Tru tired to smile. She really did. But what came out was a small twist of her lower lip at its very edge. Even the ruby red lipstick could not bring her justice.

Although, he had to admit, she did look flattering.

The same cobalt cocktail dress worn the previous night, the same split sides, and the same plunging neckline.

The same dappled arms lined with a light tan, the same mysterious eyes that were rimmed with thick liner.

He was reminded suddenly of the dream the two of them had shared. The one in which she stood before the mirror, her eyes bleeding black mascara, and his touch so light and frivolous that he thought the mirror would shatter in anticipation.

Her eyes brought him back to reality.

She took him in; everything about him was wrong. He looked all wrong. The black tailored pants rested just above his polished shoes. His perfectly pressed white shirt was flawless; it bore no creases. His jacket slipped over him effortlessly, embracing him, making him seem just part of the crowd of lawyers and businessmen. His navy tie completed the attire; it was straight and perfectly placed; nothing was out of line.

Except maybe he, himself.

He had accepted her offer of ending Jensen with no real hesitation; but rather, he harboured an unnatural sadness when he heard her whisper those words.

_Help me, Jack._

Those words lingered even still. He doubted they would ever go away.

Tru ignored the irritated looks Harrison kept throwing at her, seeing them all already. She was well aware her brother disapproved of Jack's closeness to her as of late. She knew he felt a little out of the loop; a little rejected.

It would have to suffice because the clock was running down the minutes.

Roaming her eyes around the unfolding scene, Tru noticed a glamorous Avery collecting a drink from one of the tables. She was dressed nicely in a peach-coloured dress that cut off somewhere just below the knee. Her golden hair was flowing freely around her face and shoulders.

Tru smiled, but it was short-lived. She hated having an ulterior motive for inviting her friend along. It saddened her that she should have to lie to keep her friends safe. What was that saying; it is a gesture of love that I deceive the ones I care about.

Something like that.

Tru knew Tyler wasn't an issue. Not in this instance. Yes, Jensen and Tyler were friends. Yes, they had known each other for a long time. Yes, Tyler would be affected by Jensen's sudden death.

But Avery had to be kept somewhere safe, somewhere away from what was going to happen. Avery noticed things; she noticed Tru's patterns, the way she knew things were going to happen, or past things that she was never present for. Tru knew things. And Avery noticed this.

Tru thought it odd suddenly that she had distanced herself from Davis and Harrison. Because of this rewind, because of the people it affected, she knew she could only really rely on one person to keep things in line. To keep things the way they should be. To keep things sane.

To keep _her _sane.

Davis couldn't help. There was no help from such a man that could be accepted in this situation. Nor could Harrison help; he just didn't know what to do. They both didn't.

Jack did.

Tru did.

Tru felt her shoulder burn with a sudden sharpness. She looked over at Jack expectantly. His hand caressed her bare shoulder, a little longer than it should have, before she shrugged it off and glanced over at the large, overhanding clock on the wall.

_Eleven o'clock. _

Time to go.

Tru breathed in deeply, bracing herself behind nodding. "I'm ready."

Jack swallowed hollowly at her harsh whisper. "Everything will be okay. I promise."

He promised.

_Everything will be okay._

"Okay," she breathed carefully. "Let's go."

* * *

The forbidding alleyway was already dampened with blood, stained to the foundations of the earth with crimson liquid. The gun left smoke pouring out of the lip, wisps of grey embers drifting away into the darkness.

He smiled quietly into the night, his hollow eyes surveying his work of art with satisfaction.

Jensen knew his father hadn't known a thing. He hadn't been suspicious when his son called hours ago, asking him to come to the diner. It had been a quaint meal; quiet and with little words spoken between the two.

Perfect for a last meal.

As the blood spilled out from behind his father's head, his cold eyes open and staring, Jensen stood back and watched.

He didn't notice when footsteps echoed down the narrow alley. He didn't look up from his work, his sacrifice.

Tru breathed in the grime, the garbage and the grunge of old snow. It didn't bother her. She didn't even place those smells. The only thing she could focus on was the ripe stench of death, the metallic taste of blood in the air.

She stood before Jensen, her lips frozen. They wouldn't move. She didn't mind. It was just something else she didn't have to face, speaking to a killer.

Jack fingered the raw metal of the gun that scraped against the firm skin of his lower torso. He hoped he wouldn't have to use it. Not just yet.

Jensen still held his own gun, the smoke lingering like a haunting enigma.

He held it defensively out in front of him, near Tru's head. She didn't seem to mind. Maybe she was so numb she didn't even realise it was there.

Jack pushed himself between the pointed gun and Tru's standing body. They didn't touch as he sidled in swiftly, however he could tell she was shaking. He could _feel _the erratic vibrations as she convulsed.

_She's breaking_, Jack thought with a grimace.

None of them had spoken yet; it was all too rehearsed for the need for words. Each and every one of them had practiced this same routine, the same scenario, over and over again in their minds.

Eventually, though, sound broke through that barrier of acute deafness. Jensen laughed. Softly. Sarcastically. Knowingly. Sadly. Painfully.

"I always knew it was _you_," he spoke with his teeth gritted, words aiming at Jack. His voice was strained and painful, soft resentment slipping in deftly. "Everywhere she went, you followed. Couldn't get rid of you."

Jack's eyes never left Jensen's; the same flame flickering in either body. That same burning fire Tru had witnessed in both. "I know what you're going through."

There wasn't time for Jensen to register the sadness, the relation in Jack's quiet words. "You can't possibly. There's this place, Jack, that I'm meant to be in, somewhere I _need _to get to. But I just _can't_."

"You crave death," Jack began again as he offered a slight flick of his head, "and yet you can't have it. So you kill. You kill because it's the closest thing. But it will never be the same."

Jensen clenched his jaw, gripping his head with his spare hand. He grimaced, hard, like he was trying to claw his way through his head. "No. No. No. You don't get it…!"

"Don't I?" Jack spoke softly, sadly. Ironically. "I died once." He watched the vague surprise flicker in Jensen's eyes. "It was sweet. To see my sister again. But it was bitter. Because I was pulled away, so _violently_ that I could barely breathe when I woke up. They had to induce me into a coma because my body refused to be alive. I just wanted to see my sister again."

Jensen's hands were shaking, the gun twisting and being pulled every which way. "It's not the same. I…" His eyes changed. They became deep and gentle again, sad. "Have no soul."

Tru watched in a reverie as Jensen became cold again, his eyes pooling back into black, hollow orbs that absorbed nothing.

"…I kill to make sacrifices. The people living this life should share in the peace of death. They should not have to live in chaos. They should be free."

Jack stifled a painful laugh. "It would be so much easier, wouldn't it? To be able to _choose _who lives and who dies."

Glancing away from the frenzy of the shaking gun, Tru stared into Jack's heaved back, watching as it sunk inwards. She knew what he was talking about.

"…but we can't choose. Doesn't work that way. We can't play God; we can't just roll the dice and give somebody peace. That's not what's right. We have to let fate choose."

Jack stood firm, holding his ground. Jensen ceased to shake violently. Instead, he stood very still, words forming inside his mind. A retaliation.

The gun stopped moving about erratically and he looked at it pointedly before moving it across in the chilled air, focusing it instead on Jack's solid form rather than Tru's. Anger seeped into Jensen's mouth, snaking out venomously as he cocked the gun with a click, finger bent over the trigger.

"Is that right?" Jensen formed the words carefully, purposefully speaking slowly. "Then how come _she _chooses who lives and dies?"

Tru focussed her eyes for the first time as those words reached her. Chills spilled carelessly over her. She shuddered and she didn't care. She realised who Jensen wanted to kill. It wasn't those girls whose lives were gone now for nothing. It wasn't his father, the good doctor who had always pushed Jensen further into that abyss of irreverence and perfection.

It was Tru, herself. She was the one Jensen wanted to kill.

She had taken away his peace, his death. She had given him a second life without knowing it wasn't what he wanted. Jensen himself didn't even know he hadn't wanted to live. It was something else that Jensen's body harboured that blamed Tru for the destruction of its peace.

Without a soul, he was lost.

He ceased to exist. He wasn't real. He craved death.

He needed to hurt, as he had been hurt. The pain life caused him would be the pain others felt when they died. When they were needlessly stabbed or shot. When their bodies were mauled and slaughtered, their souls would cry out and seep away, weeping for their life.

Jensen had his eyes plastered to Jack's solid ones, however Tru could still see the glint of pure amusement aimed her way glistening in his black pupil.

It was all in slow motion, jerking and silent as Jack pulled out his own gun from its holstered cage within the seams of his pants.

Tru watched, her breathing the only pattern seeming to penetrate the deafening silence. Everything inside of her stopped. Her emotions cut off as if someone had snipped a wire inside of her. Her mind stopped giving thoughts. All that remained were her limbs, still against her sides.

Jack held up his gun with an effortless raise of his arm. He was so far gone himself that he didn't think about what was happening. He just knew what he had to do.

The bullet was caged, ready in its chamber. Jack's finger was pressed against the trigger lightly, the thrilling temptation causing ripples of anticipation spilling through his entire body.

Jensen hesitated. It was a split second's action, even less than that, but Tru caught it. Tru saw the horrified glint in his eyes. She saw that breech of the real Jensen, the old Jensen that loved and cried and smiled and cared.

The one she lost months ago in a hail of gunfire.

Tru lunged forward, caging her hands around the cold metal of Jensen's gun, wrapping her fingers around the handle, her index finger slipping easily into the chamber of the trigger.

She squeezed her finger, pulled it all the way back.

If there was a noise, a loud blast, a hollow ring, she didn't hear it.

She just saw the explosion, the bullet released from its cage and rocketing its way forward. It entered the center of Jensen's forehead with a splitting rip of skin, blood splattering in small droplets.

* * *

Though they are united, they stand apart, she crumpled on the ground, writhing in anguish, and he forced to watch.

The blood of a lost one stains the ground and their hands, tainting them.

They are awash in a sin few have ever touched.

They cannot go back from this; they can't rewind the clock or erase the picture. They cannot take it back. It is done.

It will be a long time before they move forth from this. Few ever do.

They are stained with the blood of death.

Together, divided, they are forced to deal with the aftermath.

* * *

**A/N: The epilogue thing at the end was added to set up the sequel, which will be named _Aftermath_, appropriately ;)**

**One more chapter following this one and it kind of details how broken Tru is and how Jack can relate. This too will also set up the beginnings of the sequel. Should be up in a few days.**

**Peace.**


	10. Breakdown

**A/N: Last chapter. It's all romantic and fluffy, but in a really disturbing way. Before I let you read the chapter, I would like to say a huge thank you to those who not only reviewed the story, but followed it as well, until the end. You know who you are :)**

**The sequel will be up shortly, maybe in a couple of weeks or so.**

**On with the finale!**

**

* * *

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**Blood of a Stranger  
****Chapter Ten: Breakdown**

* * *

The silence was deafening. He could just feel the tension slicing through the hot air like a serrated knife. She hadn't said a word. Not a word. Not a whisper. Not a sharp sob. Nothing. And that was what hurt him the most; that was what spilt his heart through its middle. That was what dug the knife in deep, twisting it so the wound would leak rapid blood and spill onto the floor beneath them.

He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand the hurt. Not her hurt. Or his hurt. Or _their _hurt.

What they had witnessed, what they had done…it was a sin few ever lived to taste on their tongues. It was not the solvent that should be sizzling ripe in their mouths. It was the exhaustion of a life, the killing of another human.

It was not something he wanted her to experience. He hadn't meant for her to be the one to release the caged bullet, exploding in the dense night sky.

That was not how he wanted it.

She held her arms, gripping so tightly with her fingernails they bled. She didn't seem to know, didn't seem to care. Didn't seem to notice the crimson streaks licking their way down her arms.

He didn't want to be the one to remind her of the blood.

_There was so much blood. _

He guided her through the room, pressing her back gently as she stumbled on the polished wood.

She wasn't even looking where she was going. She was just _going_.

He heard the distant ticking of a clock and he was suddenly forced back into reality. The police would be at the scene by now. They would be wondering why the anonymous man who had called them decided to disappear into the deadly night.

They wouldn't understand.

The couch seemed like rock to her as she lowered herself slowly onto its leather surface. The rocks cut into her, their sharp stabs piercing her insides, making her gasp. Or maybe they were shudders. Convulsions.

She didn't know.

She could see the blood. It was everything. It stained her unclean hands. It was splattered over her eyelids, there in her afterimage every time she blinked. It was on the clean floor beneath them. It was _there_.

Jack couldn't bring himself to talk, couldn't bear to shatter the barrier between them; it was so delicate.

He let his actions speak words. Walking gingerly over to his bathroom, he ran a steaming shower. He let the soothing drops of hard water pound on the tiles before moving back over to the couch.

She looked at him with wide eyes, dapples of brown peering at him, confused.

_What was going on?_

He took her hand. It was dead cold. There was no feeling pulsing through it as he led her towards the bathroom, hesitantly fingering the zip on the back of her cobalt dress, and pulling it down slowly, looking away modestly.

He had caught the swell of her perfect shoulders in the poor light of the room.

He left her there.

Tried not to listen as the water proceeded to pound hard on the tiled surface.

She emerged several minutes later, close to an hour he guessed, wearing the dress, her hair dark and dripping cold onto her neck.

Her eyes still reflected a lost woman. A woman who did not know her place in the world anymore. A woman without any inspiration to move forward. She just wanted to sink, lower and lower, faster and faster.

He knew, because that had been him a few years ago. He had been that same, lost soul searching for the meaning, for the answer to life's greatest mystery.

_Why are we living?_

For a moment, for a pure second frozen in time, the two forgot why they were alive. They forgot about what they had been called to do. They forgot about their purpose.

He was the first to blink, to shatter that frozen moment.

She didn't care; she was gone anyway.

She was there, on the couch next to him, begging him with her eyes to break down with her. To let every poison just run through their veins together. She wanted to lose herself.

He held her, with as much tenderness as he could manage.

It was all so wrong.

She finally broke, tears of anguish and relief pouring from her, soaking his blood-mattered clothes. She didn't care. She needed this. And he let her. He carefully touched her hair, stroked its damp tendrils. She buried herself deep into the hollow of his neck. And he let her.

He didn't mind when she pressed her lips to the firm skin of his neck. It was wrong, he knew, but he didn't stop her when she did it again, only this time harder and more desperate. He tried not to close his eyes as her cold hair touched the skin of his chin.

He winced as her fingers lightly caressed the swollen scar on the back of his neck. The one he could never forget.

He let her just slide into that peaceful deafness of non-existence. He was already there. He knew how it felt.

Her lips reached the side of his head, the tender pulsing on his temple. She pressed against it for a number of seconds, draining the remaining life out of both of them.

The look in her eyes spoke to him with a ferocity that neither of them could deny. And he let her look at him like that. She pulled herself forward, capturing his lips with perfect grace with her own, and tasting him.

And he let her.

He let her cry loudly and sob uncontrollably as she kissed him.

He didn't want to move. He didn't want to respond to her lips on his. He didn't want to shatter the reverie she was so contently drifting into. But, he did.

His hand stroked the bare skin of her back as her hands raked through the tussles of hair on either side of his head. A single tear slid from the rim of her eye and trickled steadily down her face to rest on the edge of her chin. It balanced there, before finally giving in and tripping over the edge and splashing onto Jack, spilling over the hollow of his neck.

He wanted this.

It was wrong.

She was crying.

She was damaged.

It was damaged.

They couldn't.

He wanted to pull away from her lips, he wanted to ignore how they felt on his, he wanted so much for her to be happy.

Not like this.

But he couldn't pull away. He couldn't stop the way her lips continued to crash down onto his. It was magnetic. And he couldn't fight it.

He waited.

She eventually heaved over him, her lips peeling away from his, her head crashing down onto his chest. She leaned heavily into him, arms pulling tightly around his neck.

He held her, whispered vague words into her ear as he pressed his head against hers.

The glazed wood seemed cold when he walked over it, his arms heavy from carrying her across the room. She was placid, delirious. They reached his room, separated from the rest of the apartment by a door.

His bed was still; unmade.

It was a sanctuary for her, a place to rest her head and rid her mind of those plagued memories.

For now.

She was near unconscious when he laid her down softly above the covers, her arms still wrapped tightly around his neck for security. He unhooked them carefully, grappling with her gently when she refused to let him go.

It was ironic, how much now she gravitated towards him; how much she wanted him there.

She was curled quietly on the bed as he leaned over her, brushing the hair from her face with a tenderness neither of them would have expected. He moved closer towards her, bending down slightly. He touched his lips to hers in a soft kiss. He moved back as she stared at him with wide eyes.

He whispered calmly into the night, "I'll take care of you."

He left her alone, scared and curled up on top of the clean sheets. And as he wandered down the halls towards the couch, he closed his eyes at the painful sound of her cold sobs.

* * *

**A/N: I thought of that ending before I even began writing this story, so I sort of revolved the last couple of chapters around Tru breaking down, and as well as being repulsed by Jack, she feels comforted by him. **

**Anyway, again a huge thanks to those who reviewed, read, and followed me throughout this amazing journey, and I hope to relive it all when I write and post the sequel :)**

**Peace**


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